Poppy Cedes

We find inspiration in random places sometimes. Yesterday I was greedily looking through my Facebook statuses for more FarmVille gifts (please don’t judge me for this, I used to hardcore garden in Vermont, and I cannot do so here really, so virtual is all I’ve got) and noticed my previous-blogger-but-now-Twitter-and-FB pal to the East, Frankie, posted the following status:

There’s no such thing as “impossible”. The word itself says “I’m Possible”.

Indeed.

Today I found this video on rickey.org of what was described as Indian pole gymnastics, correctly termed in the video as Mallakhamb:

Physics seems defied. I am astounded by the agility of men of differing shapes and sizes, and the complete abandon of laws of gravity by the boy at the end.

The next time you tell yourself something is “impossible” remember to change it to “I’m Possible”.

Which is to say: I know you can do it, just make sure to let yourself know too.

I’m not even kidding. I love that man. If he created an official religion I’d be a part of it. (Did he do that? Crap.)

In addition to explaining his philosophy on Possession he also invited me to a party where I learned to love roller coasters. The man’s a genius. Seriously. And I cannot even explain to you all that I learned from this trip. But I can tell you there’s no one else I would have rather gone to SWCV with than Dawg. That was, hands down, the best vacation ever.

I wish I could pick the best out of the 641 photos I took so you wouldn’t have to look through them all to see what I saw, but I cannot do that. You need to go look at them all. So, here they are.

I’ll give you this one, though:

You’re welcome.

I’m leaving Wednesday for sunny Orlando where I will attend Star Wars Celebration V and see the (I forget their new name now that the word “mafia” isn’t in it, but I mean my friends). I am leaving my home with a gaping hole in the living room wall and no pipe connected to the toilet. There’s also a drop cloth, an emptied water bottle, and wall shit. When I come back it all better be like nothing ever happened in that corner or else I know who I’m visiting first thing Monday morning with my Dark Lords Rule commemorative baseball bat.

I just want to squee a little tiny bit more that during this trip I will be meeting many of my friends’ children for the first or second time. I love kids, so I’m excited to see them all and see what damage we can cause when we’re all together in one group.

See you on the flip, I don’t plan to blog while there. I do plan to tweet, though. TWEET!

And don’t worry, Mama Dawg is taking good care of the girls, cuz I’m dragging Dawg‘s ass with me to the conference. ;) Also, I have a 3-day crop going in FarmVille, and 1 bottle of unwither in case it decides to croak on the 4th day instead of the 6th.

Byebye, chicken pies!

Two of my favorite things combined: Star Wars and the NYC subway system (that’s the 6 train)

Also, Dawg and I ate cereal today. Maybe you’d like to check that out too.

The scene: Dawg and I are watching Friday Night Smackdown. Jack Swagger, one of the wrestlers I hate theeeeeee moooooooooost in the world, is talking on and on and on for a solid 15 minutes. He is telling the Buffalo, New York crowd about his lifetime achievements. Why? We do not know. Nor do we fucking care. And yet he continues. He whips out his National Scrabble Championship trophy, which is fake, but the following conversation is not.

Dawg: You know that’s real.
Poppy: What? That championship? Or Swagger winning it.
Dawg: The championship.
Poppy: I know! I!!!…
Dawg: They have groups all across the country. I read a biography about it!
Poppy: I watched a documentary about it!!! One of the guys goes to Mexico and has sex with prostitutes before his matches!
Dawg: He was in the biography.
Poppy: Are you that guy from the documentary?!
Dawg: (pause) No, I don’t play Scrabble.
Poppy: Because THAT’S the more important part to clear up!
Dawg: I don’t go to Mexico and have sex with prostitutes. I don’t have sex with prostitutes, period!
Poppy: *giggle*
Dawg: But you have to admit that was really funny.
Poppy and Dawg: *high five*
Dawg: You should blog this. I’m a treasure trove. I’m full of gold.

Abundant…

Today’s CW is a Marbits edition of Special K Strawberry Fruit Crisps. (SHAME ON YOU, KELLOGG’S.) Go check it out. :)

I wish my brother dared set foot in New York City, because then we could sing Daft Punk songs together when we get drunk on beer at:

2nd annual BeerHer
SATURDAY, APRIL 24, 2010
6:00PM EASTERN
THE GINGER MAN
11 East 36th Street
Neighborhood: Murray Hill
Borough: Manhattan
NY, NY 10016
Tel: 212-532-3740
Bring extra monies, these guys even have beer to go.

I told everyone the favor of your yes reply was requested by this past Friday at 11:59pm Eastern, but if you still wanna show up and haven’t mentioned it yet lemme know in a comment here or on twitter or facebook or email or txt before the day. At this point I think it’s staying small enough so we can just appear and hang out and drink and have fun without drama and without a reservation.

And to those who are having TequilaCon, SillyBring, or another event on the same day at the same time: CHEERS!

Let’s celebrate.

This is THE final performance titled Tetreotix by the dance crew named Poreotix on America’s Best Dance Crew. In this performance they worked with Swizz Beats to make their master mix (the music), did all their choreo, chose their wardrobe, and chose their stage props. I adore these guys. I really hope they win.

Representatives from Tennessee (my mom and stepdad), Long Island (Dawg’s aunt, uncle, cousin, and cousin’s girlfriend), New Jersey (Dawg’s ex Pudding, Pudding’s Wife [PW], The Wolves, and Gwennie the Sky Terrier), and Queens (me, Dawg, Mama Dawg, Hollywood, Mr. Clean, Soco and Coco the cats) were at the Dawg Family Thanksgiving Dinner. During this momentous occasion Pudding’s Wife kept telling me she was adding my mom as her Facebook friend so she could send her nudie pictures. Of herself or of the lovely Native American woman who wallpapers her phone, I’m not sure, but in any case I started yelling, “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU ARE GOING TO BE MY MOM’S FRIEND ON FACEBOOK BEFORE YOU ARE MY FRIEND!” (because screaming at Thanksgiving dinner in the Dawg family household is a perfectly acceptable behavior, and I’m not even kidding).

Two days later we were driving my mom and stepdad to our humble abode to see their furry grandchildren when my mom reminded me of this whole Facebook PW adding my mom before she adds me as a friend debacle and I started screaming at my mom “YOU BETTER NOT LET HER SEND YOU NUDIE PICTURES! NO NUDIE PICTURES!” to which she sagely responded, “I cannot help who chooses to send me nudie photos, I can only choose to not look at them.” My mom is so smart.

Tonight when I got home from work I had a Facebook request from PW sitting in my Gmail inbox. I promptly added her as a friend as Dawg was walking into the apartment. I greeted him, gave him a minute, then sat down on the couch and proudly announced, “PW added me as a friend today!” to which he screamed “SHE BETTER NOT SEND YOU NUDIE PICS!” to which I sagely responded “I cannot help who chooses to send me nudie photos, I can only choose to not look at them.” And Dawg, too, had the same epiphany I had in the car on Saturday.

And then I went and suggested my mom as a friend to PW on Facebook. So far no one involved in this story has exchanged any nudie photos, to the best of my knowledge. :)

Photos of my Thanksgiving weekend are here and here. Enjoy!

Went to see some wrestling with Dawg.

Had an awesome time.

Swooned over Roddy Piper, DX, and Undertaker. Booed at Miz, Cena, Swagger, Orton, and Seamus. Chanted with the crowd and heckled the people around me who kept chanting the wrong guy’s name.

Coulda touched Shawn Michaels in the street after the show if I reached my hand out and risked being SWAT team assaulted by his six bodyguards… after we were finally allowed anywhere near Dawg’s truck which was parked in with the wrestlers, oops. :)

One of the top 10 best events of my life. See some wrestlers over at flickr. It’s ok to look, they’re pieces of pretty meat, they like it when you call them pretty meat.