temple yammie yisrael

my cat is a religious leader. i just found out, but i must say i'm rather pleased. he *is* quite wise and i find his presence comforting. especially when he licks my face. he brings peace to families all over the united states! i know this revelation may come as a surprise to many of you, but i can illustrate it with some more of your favorite.....

time for SIMPLE MATH!



it’s pretty clear. the resemblance is uncanny.



also, i'm going to san francisco this weekend, with valancy jane (sarah smile).

i've had the pleasure of her company once before, so that won't be too weird, but we're going to stay with people i've never met, in order to attend the wedding of some other people i've never met. which probably will be very weird, but maybe a good story.

i get to go sailing! and go to china town! and have dinner with chantel, xt, and jenL. could this BE any more exciting? i don't think so!

if only i could bring julius boon, phd along for the trip. that would rule. besides, you never know when it might be helpful to have a rabbi. i mean, it is a wedding. he could officiate.

why you should instant message with me

i posted at nick's house again.

here is a sample, to make you want to go read our conversation.


miss kendra says:
i think so. but i like knowing how things are made. at this rate i'm going to end up a spinster. literally. all alone, spinning yarn, and chasing away the neighbor children with my scary unmarried face

Nick says:
you will have talking mice friends though (he knows what i like)

miss kendra says:
YES! i'm so excited now! i hope i get really good at these things, because people will pay alot of money for a custom corset.

Nick says:
so you're saying you'll be a rich spinster with magical talking mice friends and also gnomes

miss kendra says:
essentially. why? doesn't that sound right?

the world is crazy

we interrupt this display of pantaloons (wooooooooooooo!) to bring you a very serious update.

the terrorists have won.

when american boobs are no longer free to be hoisted heavenward- and isn't that the quintessential american dream?- indeed the end is nigh. what of those women who have implants? mightn't their enormous bags of goo in fact be beautiful breasts of doom?

and wouldn't that be ironic? using what we love (and they hate) against us?

now back to your regularly scheduled joyous pantalooning.

pantaloons!

that's all.

i've had some work done.

i know it's very different, but please try to love it.

don't forget the footer!

worship my mad templating skills!

supernova = crack heads?

WHAT THE FUCK?

they kept patrice? and got rid of zayra? i mean, yeah, zayra occasionally sounded like a mortally wounded foreign exchange student yodeling from beneath a mountain of mechanically seperated chicken parts, but atleast she had flair! patrice is like the invisible woman. she gets up on the stage and i know someone's there, but i don't see anyone.

the band members and hosts are so awesome though. they're like insane blind-person drawn caricatures of imitations of real people.

host brooke: your monotone tries to hypnotize me into believing your breasts are real. i keep imagining you as a paper doll, and i press different outfits up against you to see what looks silliest. whatever rock chick shit they dress you in always wins.

host dave navarro: you think you're so clever with your misleading post-performance statements. but woah! then you flip it! because everyone is awesome!!!!!! now sit up straight. also, you have an alarming lack of chest hair for a man who so closely resembles the wolfman.

bandmate gilby clarke: you are a jabillion lightyears beyond this. you actually have coherent and relevant things to say. i liked it when you cut down the stripper (jill joia) who pretended not to know who courtney love was. sometimes when you watch the rockstars sing i can see you die a little inside.

bandmate jason newsted: let's make out. i adore that your during performance reaction is pretty much always a disappointed

why won't these people ROCK????
i know, jason newsted. i know.

bandmate tommy lee: always with the cheeky commentary. keep it in your pants. i know you might find that difficult a whole two hours a week, but please. flirt less, drum more. stop telling the guys how being in your band will get them laid. don't you know this show is all about the high quality music?


and of course, our top seven rockstars in summary:

patrice: you look nearly as ridiculous in your hollywood rocker gear as brooke burke. atleast you have some semblance of motion. just go home and put on your jammie pants. you know you want to.

toby: i finally know who you are! all it took was nudity, and cutting half the cast.

ryan star: you have a girl's name. she was on american idol. you are incredibly dramatic and you stare dreamily into the camera, but i think it might be ok.

magni: you are attractive and you have a nice voice. you are very good in all ways, but do not make me excited any.

lukas: you started out impressive, but now i see you just mask your limitations well. you want to kill the singer for "my chemical romance" and steal his band/eyeshadow. also, your head is small.

storm large: please keep your eyeballs in their sockets. you are mcuh prettier when they remain there. you are very talented, but i suspect you secretly long to do musical theatre.

dilana: stop pretending to be a goth fairy and buy some real clothes. also, you are not stevie nicks. you are talented, but i am bored of you. i like your hair though.

i'm not sure who i want to win. i don't know "supernova's" music, so it's hard to say who would be a good fit. all i know is that next week there will be a serious lack of crazy metallic vinyl catsuit corset leotards, capes and plastic hooker boots now that zayra is gone.

and i will weep. i will weep for us all.

reach out and touch faith

i have very little coherence available to me right now, but there are some things you should know.

one.

i am fat today.

two.

gene simmons seems fun. i would like to have him and his family over for pie. i don't know what sort of pie they like, but i am willing to make several.

three.

saturday was interesting. i knitted in the morning, then saw the following things as the day progressed:

~a bowling shirt with an embroidered mooning bambi
~a halter top that read “foxy bitch”
~a polyester rainbow/cloud printed jogging shirt with a very wide double layered disco collar
~not one, but TWO girls in a café on labrea decked out in full on crazy lolita alice in wonderland gear (one of the skirts was so short that when she sat down at the table i’m sure her bare butt was on the seat)
~orange suede leiderhosen

then, on saturday night i went to a fetish bar. the website is sucky, but maybe you can get a decent idea from looking at the "souls" section. it was impromptu, and i am generally more pub than club, but even with that said, i don’t think i was expecting quite what i got. the very first thing i saw when i walked in was a girl splayed on a chaise lounge with her friend in a position that could only be described as “airing one’s crotch.” from the soft-core fetish films being projected on a building wall to the girl licking her girlfriend’s boot and then making out with her (the actual bottom of the boot- wtf? be gay, be in to s&m, be into bodily fluids for all i care- but that boot walked down hollywood boulevard and that is seriously gross), to the men in questionable amounts of latex/leather/mesh… ooh ooh! and the girl being groped and manipulated in front of a devoted audience and the 98% naked dancing bar girls and the guy being flogged by a very small woman with surprising strength? and then personal jesus came on and i was tempted to dance naked, but i didn't. that's for sundays, fool. anyway it was interesting to say the least. i think i will have my birthday there. who’s in?

four.

i went to the optometrist today for the first time in FIVE AND A HALF YEARS and she played cartoons for me on a projection screen while she looked at my eyeballs. it was all fine and dandy until this came on. what sort of torturous device is this, that she would drop liquid in my eyes to make them gluey and slow, place my head in a hannibal-mask so she could “measure my curvature” and then play such fabulous music (and the monkeys! oh the monkeys!) but not allow me to dance? not to mention the fact that she poked my eye with a stick. a sterile metal stick that scientifically measures pressure, but still a stick. all i ever did was love science and it poked me without my permission!

it took me a while to choose new frames because the ones i wanted were super hot but not at all practical. i got similar ones that don’t make me look quite as bad assed. it’s hard to pick glasses when you’re trying to picture how you will look in them pajama-clad and unkempt on the morning dogwalk. i will post pictures of my lovely new glasses when they arrive and you will give me due worship, oh yes, you will.

five.

i made ubermilf an apron. it rules. you should see some up close pictures of it, so i will post them here when i get home. you better come back and look at them.

uber apron!

uber cupcakes!

i like making things. it gives me a false sense of order in a fundamentally fucked up world.

six.

(in rhyme) my flesh is all red and irritated. it has been for two days. something bit my breast, not in the good fetish bar way.

call me

for some reason, i am in popular demand.

not in my actual real life, and not by anyone i actually really know, but still. when you're an attention whore, anything will do.

i almost never pick up my phone. i hate it. i hate holding it up to my ear, i hate the way it gets all smeary from being next to my skin. yes, i'm oily. move on.

i glance at the caller id when i hear ringing, but really, it doesn't matter to me who you are. you would have to be calling at the exact moment all the planets and their moons were properly aligned, during the seventh month of the lunar calendar, after having properly placated an albino boa with a set of two headed lambs, all the while wearing this (and this) in order for me to even consider considering picking up the phone.

i don't know why this is. if you want to come over, i'll probably talk to you till you throw yourself off a balcony, but the phone thing just doesn't work for me.

that said, i do pick up 9 times out of ten when the number comes up "unavailable." i realize that's when most people are least likely to answer, but my parents are "unavailable" (this statement leading me to be the number one search result for bad parenting, which is probably true as i have a troubling fascination with the girls next door and a penchant for donuts and vodka) and so i pick up, calculating probabilities based on time zone disparities, wagering that it's them.

unfortunately, for some very strange reason, it rarely is. for a good three months it was numerous strangers inquiring on a daily basis about the boat for sale. because earlier this year, when i was having all that money trouble, wouldn't all have been resolved if i would just sell my fucking boat?

why indeed???

because i don't own a boat. nor do i know anyone who does. nor did i give anyone i don't know who may own one permission to PAINT MY PHONE NUMBER ALONG THE SIDE OF SAID BOAT* TO AID IN ITS EVENTUAL OWNER TRANSFERENCE.

i'm assuming that this situation has resolved itself, as i have not received a boat call in a while. that's ok though, as i am not lacking for interesting conversation. last week my phone rang and when i answered i was greeted by a pleasant sounding elderly man who introduced himself as Grandpa and asked if i was ok, since i had just called.

i convinced him i was ok before gently breaking the news that i thought he might have the wrong number. Grandpa was greatly apologetic. he was audibly flustered and and even after i had assured him that it was ok, i didn't mind, he seemed to linger on the line. i waited for him to say goodbye and hang up, but it didn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

i grew concerned. it was nearing dinner time. what was i to do? wait forever? press the end button? you can't just hang up on Grandpa! it's unseemly.

"well, bye," i said. "have a good night." and there it ended. (anti-climactic, i know. what did you want? for the old man to cry? you're just mean, and i won't indulge that.) then i ate meatballs. they were good.

most recently, i have begun receiving errant text and picture messages. who knows from whence they came??? well, i'm guessing the west side, as it's a 310 area code, but still. that could be anywhere.

the ones on saturdays are quickly becoming my favorite though, because that's when my newest fat-fingered friend incorrectly punches in his/her friend's number, but instead sends the pictures to me. without explanation.





i'm starting a collection. so far i have brown with brown, black, and brown with white. what? it's a good start.

i think the first one might be named leroy.


*sorry uccellina and uccellina's husband.

it's funny 'cause it's true

natalie dee and miss kendra starring in:

poop free since 2003!

you want my job

either i've traveled back in time and am magically posting via the power of gnomes on a prehistoric interweb, or this is just what i wore to work last friday.

where i

~drank wine coolers from a kiddie pool filled with ice
~did jell-o shots
~ ate burgers and chips and chicken with veggies
~watched other people eat fried brie (is this good? they liked it. it seemed weird to me. (that might be because i'm allergic to cheese and also not a fan of fried unless it involves carbohydrates))
~competed in a trivia contest wherein one of the answers was quite gloriously "cory feldman"
~got serenaded
~was given gorgeous jewelry and a rubiks cube for my trouble.

here is a close up, so you can see my bitchin eye makeup and hair doodad.



also, someone needs to call doc brown, hop in the delorean, and get my parents back together, as i seem to be disappearing, eyebrow first.

quick! hurry! before i am no longer able to properly perform a pivotal character in my one woman show!