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This is a test profile. If it had been an actual profile, you would have been instructed where to turn in your area for news and emergency information. This is only a test.
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» DIY Techno-hacks
9 out of 10 dentists do not recommend this.
I almost forgot the best one. Hubby broke his tooth quite badly the night before everything shut down for the 4-day Thanksgiving weekend and there was not a dentist to be found anywhere. The little metal post from a previous repair was slicing his lip to ribbons, and we were due to have family photos taken with some snooty relatives. So I did what any rational person would have done - I grabbed a chunk of white candle and a lighter and made him a fake tooth. We had to replace it a couple of times, as it would eventually work it's way off the little post, but no one ever knew the difference - except for when he pulled it out and tossed it across the breakfast table at my sister-in-law.
(Mon 24th Aug 2009, 18:13, More)
9 out of 10 dentists do not recommend this.
I almost forgot the best one. Hubby broke his tooth quite badly the night before everything shut down for the 4-day Thanksgiving weekend and there was not a dentist to be found anywhere. The little metal post from a previous repair was slicing his lip to ribbons, and we were due to have family photos taken with some snooty relatives. So I did what any rational person would have done - I grabbed a chunk of white candle and a lighter and made him a fake tooth. We had to replace it a couple of times, as it would eventually work it's way off the little post, but no one ever knew the difference - except for when he pulled it out and tossed it across the breakfast table at my sister-in-law.
(Mon 24th Aug 2009, 18:13, More)
» DIY Techno-hacks
Don't look at me like that,, why do you sell them in the first place?
Back in our early broke-as-shit newlyweds phase, we broke an alternator belt coming back from a concert a couple of hundred miles from home. Imagine it - we are tooling down the interstate at 3AM in a deathtrap pickup truck at about 80mph, trying desperately to get somewhere useful before the battery runs down and we lose our headlights. Hubby, being the psycho geekboy McGyver studmuffin he is, had a brilliant idea. It took three or four truckstops (the only thing open at that hour) before we found one that - god knows why - sold pantyhose, with which he was able to construct something close enough to a belt to get us home. He bought a whole bag of them and we had to stop and replace them every 30 miles or so, because they'd stretch and melt, but it worked. The best part for me was watching him dash into truckstop after truckstop (full of really scary people at 3AM) getting more and more frantic, jamming his head in the door and shouting "PANTYHOSE? I NEED PANTYHOSE!" much to the befuddlement of the large hairy men buying white crosses and porn. Good times.
(Mon 24th Aug 2009, 17:42, More)
Don't look at me like that,, why do you sell them in the first place?
Back in our early broke-as-shit newlyweds phase, we broke an alternator belt coming back from a concert a couple of hundred miles from home. Imagine it - we are tooling down the interstate at 3AM in a deathtrap pickup truck at about 80mph, trying desperately to get somewhere useful before the battery runs down and we lose our headlights. Hubby, being the psycho geekboy McGyver studmuffin he is, had a brilliant idea. It took three or four truckstops (the only thing open at that hour) before we found one that - god knows why - sold pantyhose, with which he was able to construct something close enough to a belt to get us home. He bought a whole bag of them and we had to stop and replace them every 30 miles or so, because they'd stretch and melt, but it worked. The best part for me was watching him dash into truckstop after truckstop (full of really scary people at 3AM) getting more and more frantic, jamming his head in the door and shouting "PANTYHOSE? I NEED PANTYHOSE!" much to the befuddlement of the large hairy men buying white crosses and porn. Good times.
(Mon 24th Aug 2009, 17:42, More)
» When I met the parents
Impressing my mother...
Actually I have a bunch of these, each worse than the last. When hubby and I got engaged my parents invited us out for a semifancy dinner to celebrate/scope him out. I'm on my best behavior, and hubby is being as charming as only a complete loon can when the mood strikes him. Desert arrives, something-or-other with several pf those toxic red maraschino cherries on top. I loathe the things, so I passed him mine and went on chatting. Shortly I noticed that mom had gotten very quiet and starey. I looked down to see my perv fiance calmly popping the cherries into his mouth, pulling out the knotted stems and lining them up down the middle of the table, one after the other.
That was eleven years ago and yes, we're still married. He can do double knots.
Also he's on B3ta too and doesn't know I'm posting this. Good morning, you perv!
(Fri 20th May 2005, 6:01, More)
Impressing my mother...
Actually I have a bunch of these, each worse than the last. When hubby and I got engaged my parents invited us out for a semifancy dinner to celebrate/scope him out. I'm on my best behavior, and hubby is being as charming as only a complete loon can when the mood strikes him. Desert arrives, something-or-other with several pf those toxic red maraschino cherries on top. I loathe the things, so I passed him mine and went on chatting. Shortly I noticed that mom had gotten very quiet and starey. I looked down to see my perv fiance calmly popping the cherries into his mouth, pulling out the knotted stems and lining them up down the middle of the table, one after the other.
That was eleven years ago and yes, we're still married. He can do double knots.
Also he's on B3ta too and doesn't know I'm posting this. Good morning, you perv!
(Fri 20th May 2005, 6:01, More)
» You're a moviestar baby
I Was A Whore In The Movie From Hell
HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION, BY ME, AGE 17:
When I was 17 (mid-eighties) a friend had a job working for an extremely low budget film company. When he mentioned they needed girls my roommate and I thought "what the hell, we're not doing anything in particular this summer." We went over to meet the producer, who turned out to be running his film company out of the back room of his father's insurance office. He asked to see our legs, and we dutifully pulled up our skirts. (We were kind of thrilled. I think we half-hoped he'd try something so we could go off on him. Remember, we were 17.)
He asked us if we could dance, we told him yes, and he said "OK, you're hired." The movie turned out to be a western (?!?!?) and they shot it at a theme park that was closed down for the season, halfway up a mountain in North Carolina. When we got there they hadn't left us any instructions for getting TO the park itself - the parking lot was at the bottom of the mountain - and we had to talk a security guard into turning on the skilift.
They put us up in a rented condo with five other girls, one of whom wore three inches of makeup and never took it off, she just kept adding layer after layer. She looked like a half-melted wax dummy and turned out to be the producer's girlfriend. There was another chick who kept nattering the entire time about how she'd been an extra in a Chuck Norris movie. She wouldn't shut up about it. It was her answer to everything. If you asked her to pass the butter at breakfast, she'd tell you they had much better catering on the goddam Chuck Norris movie. I bet their toilet paper was softer, too.
The main things I remember: The cameraman was baked the entire time. He kind of fancied me, and once he took me out to his equipment car and showed me the glove compartment, which was completely stuffed with pot. He once passed out behind the camera - in the footage you could see the picture just sort of slowly drift toward the ceiling - and the guy who wrote the script wound up running the camera for an entire afternoon. Also, someone had left the beer taps loaded in the "saloon," and the bunch playing the bad guys became very dangerous to be around fairly quickly. We were supposed to go sit on their laps and generally act like saloon whores, and we learned very quickly that an accidental elbow to the crotch or a high heel in the instep would distract them long enough to get away.
I also remember I had to improvise a can-can, flipping my skirt up and showing undies. Unfortunately I was wearing my own, it not having occurred to me that they were going to be immortalized on film. They were very little-girl white cotton bikinis with Garfield the cat on them. The wardrobe woman took me in the bathroom and made me hand them over, and quickly stitched scraps of black lace all over them, and I went back to my can-can. I was the proud owner of the world's only pair of black lace Garfield panties. I thought they were hilarious, and I kept them for years, thus tying into LAST week's question as well.
The check bounced, the producer moved and they spelled my name wrong in the credits. I'm not going to tell the name of the movie, because I live in mortal fear that it will rise from the grave to haunt me some day.
Apoligies for length - hope it was worth it!
(Fri 12th Nov 2004, 17:26, More)
I Was A Whore In The Movie From Hell
HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION, BY ME, AGE 17:
When I was 17 (mid-eighties) a friend had a job working for an extremely low budget film company. When he mentioned they needed girls my roommate and I thought "what the hell, we're not doing anything in particular this summer." We went over to meet the producer, who turned out to be running his film company out of the back room of his father's insurance office. He asked to see our legs, and we dutifully pulled up our skirts. (We were kind of thrilled. I think we half-hoped he'd try something so we could go off on him. Remember, we were 17.)
He asked us if we could dance, we told him yes, and he said "OK, you're hired." The movie turned out to be a western (?!?!?) and they shot it at a theme park that was closed down for the season, halfway up a mountain in North Carolina. When we got there they hadn't left us any instructions for getting TO the park itself - the parking lot was at the bottom of the mountain - and we had to talk a security guard into turning on the skilift.
They put us up in a rented condo with five other girls, one of whom wore three inches of makeup and never took it off, she just kept adding layer after layer. She looked like a half-melted wax dummy and turned out to be the producer's girlfriend. There was another chick who kept nattering the entire time about how she'd been an extra in a Chuck Norris movie. She wouldn't shut up about it. It was her answer to everything. If you asked her to pass the butter at breakfast, she'd tell you they had much better catering on the goddam Chuck Norris movie. I bet their toilet paper was softer, too.
The main things I remember: The cameraman was baked the entire time. He kind of fancied me, and once he took me out to his equipment car and showed me the glove compartment, which was completely stuffed with pot. He once passed out behind the camera - in the footage you could see the picture just sort of slowly drift toward the ceiling - and the guy who wrote the script wound up running the camera for an entire afternoon. Also, someone had left the beer taps loaded in the "saloon," and the bunch playing the bad guys became very dangerous to be around fairly quickly. We were supposed to go sit on their laps and generally act like saloon whores, and we learned very quickly that an accidental elbow to the crotch or a high heel in the instep would distract them long enough to get away.
I also remember I had to improvise a can-can, flipping my skirt up and showing undies. Unfortunately I was wearing my own, it not having occurred to me that they were going to be immortalized on film. They were very little-girl white cotton bikinis with Garfield the cat on them. The wardrobe woman took me in the bathroom and made me hand them over, and quickly stitched scraps of black lace all over them, and I went back to my can-can. I was the proud owner of the world's only pair of black lace Garfield panties. I thought they were hilarious, and I kept them for years, thus tying into LAST week's question as well.
The check bounced, the producer moved and they spelled my name wrong in the credits. I'm not going to tell the name of the movie, because I live in mortal fear that it will rise from the grave to haunt me some day.
Apoligies for length - hope it was worth it!
(Fri 12th Nov 2004, 17:26, More)
» I'm an expert
Perhaps I Am A Viable Candidate For Trepanning?
I write freelance for magazines (part-time, now that I've reproduced and stuff) and as a result my brain is full of weird little free-floating bubbles of expertise in extremely boring and/or obscure things I've had occasion to research and write an article or twelve about. Want to know about comparative costs per head of Planned Parenthood programs vs. putting knocked-up teenagers on welfare? I'm your girl. I can also tell you more than you ever wanted to know before lunch about the exact symptoms of various diseases, and what really happens when you get HIV. (Hint: you don't expire all cinematically like a 40's movie, becoming more ethereal as you go. It's even more disgusting than most people realize. Needless to say, let's be careful out there, shall we?) Insane American religions who think Jesus is coming back next week sometime and choose to commemorate same by rolling around on the floor frothing at the mouth? Check. Also for some reason I know an awfully lot about the sinking of the Titanic.
Oh, and I type over 100 words per minute, I can change a diaper with a cast on one hand and I make the best pot roast ever. (The secret is to put it - the roast, not the diaper - in a plastic bag and beat the shit out of it with a hammer before you marinade. Mmmm! Tool-alicious!)
(Fri 24th Jun 2005, 16:52, More)
Perhaps I Am A Viable Candidate For Trepanning?
I write freelance for magazines (part-time, now that I've reproduced and stuff) and as a result my brain is full of weird little free-floating bubbles of expertise in extremely boring and/or obscure things I've had occasion to research and write an article or twelve about. Want to know about comparative costs per head of Planned Parenthood programs vs. putting knocked-up teenagers on welfare? I'm your girl. I can also tell you more than you ever wanted to know before lunch about the exact symptoms of various diseases, and what really happens when you get HIV. (Hint: you don't expire all cinematically like a 40's movie, becoming more ethereal as you go. It's even more disgusting than most people realize. Needless to say, let's be careful out there, shall we?) Insane American religions who think Jesus is coming back next week sometime and choose to commemorate same by rolling around on the floor frothing at the mouth? Check. Also for some reason I know an awfully lot about the sinking of the Titanic.
Oh, and I type over 100 words per minute, I can change a diaper with a cast on one hand and I make the best pot roast ever. (The secret is to put it - the roast, not the diaper - in a plastic bag and beat the shit out of it with a hammer before you marinade. Mmmm! Tool-alicious!)
(Fri 24th Jun 2005, 16:52, More)