And, pray tell, what production were you rehearsing for? That sounds insanely dangerous, yet sexy 
I’m shoe shopping also, and I can’t figure out heel height. Do you measure from the floor to where the heel joins the shoe, or do you measure from the floor all the way to your foot? If the shoes have platform soles, this could change things quite a bit.
Damn. Those are cute. Want to send them to me and I’ll send them to you? You can trust me, I’m from the Internet.
Floor to your foot. This is the only way that 5" heels and up are possible without being crippling.
For verification check the 5" and up category - they’re all platform.
Look, lady. It’s not the haircut. I can live with it; it’s not what I wanted but I can live with it. What I mind is you yip-yapping at me while I’m trying to explain to you what I want, and yip-yapping more when I try to tell you you’re doing what I don’t want. Don’t fucking interrupt someone. Try listening instead.
thank you
I honestly don’t remember the name, but it was more than once. My hometown had a habit of picking up turn-of-the-century comedic plays, scrubbing them of the racist overtones that were in basically every one (forex: replacing the dumb sharecropper stereotype with the backwoods Irish miner stereotype–acceptable because it was always PLAYED by a backwoods Irish miner :p), and putting them on for the 4th of July week.
And somehow I always played the villain. And many of these plots involved Scooby-Doo levels of disguised, cross-dressing villainy.
At the time I wasn’t really wearing the beard full-time, so often I was sporting a Snidely Whiplash mustache covered with flesh-covered tape.
Yet I never managed to move on to Rocky Horror. Not for lack of trying. There, that’s a mini-rant in and of itself.
There is room out there for a Dr. Frankenfurter with a paunch and facial hair. THERE TOTALLY IS.
If you supply the size 11EE heels, I’m available for proms, blind dates, and male modeling. 
Obligatory “pics or it didn’t happen!” post.
Well, yeah, but the casting’s already covered. Have you SEEN Tim Curry lately?
Bah!! Here I was all excited that you would help me out and then it turns out you’re Scamina McScammy!
Nuts!
Sadly, my mom being the photog that she is, all the pics from that are head shots.
No, actually, I am totally serious. DM me for my mailing address, and I’ll ship them to you when they come. I’ll never open the box. I was kidding about the “I’m from the Internets” business … although, yeah, I am, you know?
Cue Bobbie Gentry’s guitar: *
It was the third of June, about an hour before I get off work,
My boss had told me to stay for overtime, and I said “Sure” just like a stupid jerk.
So I called home to wake my daughter up and tell her that she’d have to walk to school,
And she said “Daddy I want to sleep some more; this really, really isn’t cool.”
Then she hung up, and I went to get my tools, and two minutes later my cell phone began to ring,
And it was Kayla, and she said “Daddy, this is really a bad, bad thing.
Mommy’s screaming on the floor, ‘cause she fell down, it was a nasty slip.”
And that was how I learned my wife had gone and broke her motherfuckin’ hip.*
Bringing it up again, because today the physical therapist strongly advised against bringing her to the Greek Theatre on July 8 for a Steely Dan concert. :mad:
Bummer!! 
The Doors will be at the OC fair in August - will that help?
IT’S A TRAP!
(Wow, that feels good!)
Not as much as one might imagine, as I’m flying to OKC on Aug. 1, for a six-week school.
Maybe obvious, maybe not. Did you try Gravity Pope?
http://www.gravitypope.com/gravity-pope-shoes-calgary
And, um, fuck you Calgary thunder storms! Although you’d think I’d have them figured out by now.
Okay, I’m already aware that moving is its own little corner of hell, but really?
Timeline:
Six weeks before moving, I give the boss my move date, so that we can hire and train my replacement. New employees come and go, or don’t show up at all.
Three weeks before the move, I give, essentially, a two week notice. I asked to be taken off the schedule after the fourth, giving my coworker time for her vacation, and offer to work an extra night or two for another coworker who works two jobs and who hasn’t had a day off since April.
About 2 weeks ago, the manager hired a complete disaster. I tried for a week to train her, with no success. She was let go, and I started a new trainee. Agreed to work through the tenth, figuring I’d at least have the weekend to pack, organize, and clean before Monday.
So of course, my father-in-law decides to visit Saturday. And “help.” And get roaring drunk. So he has to spend the night.
And while I’m out dropping off donations, getting dinner and more boxes, etc., I get pulled over. “Mrs. C, did you realize your tag is expired?” Crap again! Hubby forgot to renew them. In February! (No ticket, thank goodness, but that was money we couldn’t spare right now.
Which brings me to Sunday: father-in-law finally leaves around noon. Mother-in-law shows up to collect the girls to spend a couple of nights. Friend of husband drops by. And another. Finally, around 7pm I can start packing.
Monday, we collect the truck, the moving dudes show up, and it’s packed and unpacked in record time. I offer the guys some items I don’t want to move, and tell them that I’ll stow that stuff on the carport until they can come get them. We leave waaay more at the old house than I’d like, but I’ll just take the pickup back and pack it while I deep clean.
So… Tuesday. Back for packing and cleaning. I can’t get everything, because I had to bring both dogs with me. Too long a day to leave them alone in a new place. On the way home with 2 dogs and a loaded truck, I hit a deer… Fortunately, just a small dent, and a seatbelt bruise for me. The deer is seriously injured and suffering. I was returning to the truck for my pistol when a guy stopped to check on me. He was kind enough to shoot the buck for me.
So today: went back to finish. Took the baby, got to the old house. Shit! Power and water were off. I meant to keep them on through tomorrow! Oh well, swept the last couple of rooms instead of vacuuming. Used the water in the toilet tank for the last of the wiping and mopping. Go to the carport to get the landlady’s refrigerator and bring it back into the kitchen. No fridge! Crap! The moving dudes took it when they came back for their stuff! I called them, and they had already sold it to a scrap yard. (Police report, call to landlady.) Finally all done, truck loaded, just in time to try to beat a massive storm to my new location.
Now the power is out.
I never want to move again!
Because of a medical procedure earlier in the week I have been taking pain killers. They contain codeine which tends to bind you up.
I have been drinking prune juice and eating dried apricots.
I have got a backside like one of those red arsed monkeys, have lost a lot of friends and aren’t game to leave the house.
Codeine my arse.
Holee shit. I haven’t heard of a week this bad in… ever.
What’s up with the moving guys and the refrigerator? Did they blatantly intend to steal the fridge??? Or was there a mixup? Seems like a colossally stupid crime to commit on the clock.