One day I just want to be sitting in the State Employee Food Court area, and lock eyes with a man across the room. Of course, I want it to be Ira Glass, but I’m not sure how often he lunches at the State offices.

"Why yes, I do dress like this for the office everyday."

Anyway. blah, blah, blah, lock eyes. And then! Seemingly out of nowhere… but probably out of the speakers, “Take My Breath Away” just starts playing.

And wind blows through my hair. In slow motion. (which goes without saying, because it says it RIGHT IN THE SONG) Then, then at THE MOMENT of the key change…

As Ira turns to me and says “Would you like a cookie, my love. Would you like a cookie?”

Then we share a cookie, in slow motion. Obviously.

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Remember when I found a Drive-Thru Starbucks in Savannah? FTW!

This has been your random moment in history for April 25, 2010.


When I was 5, my grandma had this chair. The phone chair. I called it the phone chair, because it was in the phone room. Other contents of the phone room included, but were also limited to: um. a side table with a phone on it. And also a closet were my grandma kept puzzles and dominoes.

Now, I say “when I was 5” because that’s my earliest memory of sitting in the phone chair and dialing 9-1-1 to “see what happens.”

So fast forward 9 or 10 years, when I show up at my grandma’s house only to discover she has replaced the contents on the phone room with a daybed.  Apparently in 1997, phones don’t have cords and no longer necessitate their own room.

Dude, Gran. WTF? Where’s the phone chair? WHERE IS THE PHONE CHAIR?? I CAN NOT LIVE WITHOUT THE PHONE CHAIR! GIVE ME THE PHONE CHAIR NOOOOOW!

I’ve had the fucking phone chair in my possession since then. Let me describe the phone chair in more detail.

The Phone Chair:

  • Is a wine-colored velour-carpet-polymix chaise lounge
  • Was handcrafted by real Mormons Amish in 1978ish
  • That last bullet point is complete made up bullshit.
  • Was actually made by elves in Santa’s workshop and delivered to my Grandma on Christmas 1982, just a few months before I was born.
  • A note found attached to the phone chair read: “Your grand-daughter will be named Taylor. And carry the burden of this chair for ETERNITY. PS- This chair would look great in your phone room.”

I can’t say anything other than I hate this chair more than… I can’t think of anything…. I hate this chair more than I hate people who torture kittens.

I don’t know why I still have this chair. Every time anyone in my family visits this comment is uttered in some form: “Wow. You still have that chair. Why?”

Why? Because it’s the phone chair, and I LOVE it. I know just said I hate the phone chair more than kitten torturers, but I’m a complicated woman. Get used to it.

Over the years, the phone chair has been a very useful place to store… books, laundry, stuff. Never a very useful place to sit. In compact living spaces, I’ve never found a non-awkward place for the phone chair, I guess that’s why it had it’s very own room at Gran’s.  So I always crammed it somewhere in my bedroom. It’s managed to make an appearance in the living room at my current place, but I’m about to move it into the bedroom. Where it FUCKING belongs.

One other thing about the phone chair, it magnetically attracts dogs. It’s like, electrons and spin-states. Don’t ask me, what do I look like, a scientist?

The reason I’ve always put “stuff” on the phone chair is because if I don’t, every time I turn around there’s a dog or two stuck to it.

Last week I had my laptop bag and the Roboraptor on call as demagnetizers.

So… That worked really well.

Way to go, robot dinosaur! You don’t do laundry, and now you’ve also proved a completely worthless watchrobotdinosaur.

Yes. You’re very cute. Now QUIT GETTING MY SHIT FURRY.

The funny thing is, the Roboraptor has remained on the phone chair all week. No one seems to mind. Daisy doesn’t mind. The roboraptor doesn’t mind. Everyone is perfectly content  getting the phone chair all fuzzy.

They’ve discussed the weather…

Made silly faces at one another…

But seriously. I’m moving the phone chair to the foot of by bed where it belongs and covering it with laundry.

BURDENED FOR ETERNITY.


Remember when I beat Michael J. Fox at Peggle on Xbox live?

This has been your random moment in history for April 15, 2010.


A special shout out on this one to Lord Cinderbottom, for he is the reason I love games.


Step 1

“Espresso button” two Intense Dark Roasts in the Flaviator. Top with lid, walk to car and set aside in one of the vehicle’s cupholder.

Step 2

Drive to Burger King

Step 3

Purchase a Mocha Joe

Step 4

Drink 1/3 of Mocha Joe as quickly as possible while driving to office.

Step 4.5 (Optional)

Sipping Mocha Joe at a moderately slower pace is acceptable if there’s a good story on NPR and you plan on sitting in your car in the parking deck until it’s over.

Good morning, Ira

Step 5

Before getting out of the car, pour the shots of Dark Roast into remaining Mocha Joe.  Congrats, you’ve just successfully assembled a Mocha Carbomb!

Step 6

Consume Mocha Carbomb before completing 2 block walk to office.

Step 7

(most likely) Vomit relentlessly.

Unless you’re a real man, like me. In which case, you gain one chest hair and level up! WTG!


Remember when that dragon attacked my car?

This has a been your random moment in history for April 06, 2010.


So as you can see, last August I was pretty excited about my giant leap for Taylorkind into the 21st century by way of  the purchase of a refurbished 1 GB iPod shuffle. Costing me a grand total of $38.

weeeeeee!!

Well guess what, fucking hipsters? It turns out, the iPhone or whatever didn’t “change the way I poop” because 1) girls don’t poop, and 2)I downloaded 6 podcasts onto that crap, listened to 2 of them, and didn’t dig it out of obscurity again until 2 days ago.

Before I get to the actual story about balding dudes I’m trying to tell here… I just wanted to point out that, while looking for my “excited iPod” picture, I crossed paths with my “one less tooth in my head” picture, and found it still to be quite humorous.

So. Enjoy.

Anywho. So the doldrums of spring cleaning are eliciting excessive ennuiness from me this particular season, because, well, they’re moving us out of our offices into fucking cubicles across the street, and I have to clean out the Godzilla-tsunami-Fourth-of-July-weekend-Will-Smith-movie-opening distasterclast that is… ladies and gentlemen, my office.

So sometime Friday, during the time span I sat in my living room rocking back and forth until 1:30 pm when I decided they would TOTALLY notice I hadn’t gotten to work yet, I decided filling my forgotten iPod with something peppy, something happy, something up-tempo, that would partially ease the pain of cleaning out my office.

Well it didn’t.

But just as I stepped out onto the M-L-K-J-R on my way for some coping margaritas, this song managed put me in a good mood. So before tequila, I stopped by my apartment and bought myself a ticket for Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, which I got home from a few hours ago.

Guess what? Ted Leo is totally making ranks on my list of Most Badass Punk Rock Mother Fuckers. Alongside Ben Folds and Greg Graffin. Though now that my trifecta of MBAPRMF’s is complete, I’ve discovered a disturbing trend.

Yeah.

I KNOW!

Doesn’t like, the last 9 years of my life make so much more sense now?

I got a disease. That disturbs my perceptions, and disrupts brain traffics flow. And I am sad to say that I am currently functioning under the belief that I will never see to live the day in which that I am cured of baldy goofs.