Jessica: In the mind of almost every bride, there is a Platonic ideal of a bridesmaid dress that flatters every figure, is formal enough for a wedding, yet classically styled enough to be worn over and over again. This, in spite of the fact that the bride tells her only bridesmaid, repeatedly, "I don't care what you wear, I just want you there on My Big Day," will cause the bride to reject all of the suggestions made by the bridesmaid because "It's nice, but it's not really what I pictured."

Nilly: Jessica, in my mind's ears, your post read: "In every wedding there's a chosen bridesmaid dress. She alone will stand against the formal, the styling, and the forces of the wedding industry. She is the bridesmaid dress".

__________________

( *shaky fist* to JohnSweden, of course I provided context, so...neener.)

Erika makes me laugh in Bitches:

I've talked about him in three or four threads already. If it weren't for all the brain damage, there'd be no story in that story. Or it's the same old "girl meets boy, girl likes boy, boy likes girl's writing and thinks she's amusing, boy has dying girlfriend, in like vegatative state, girl has disability, boy has wiggins, girl pines hopelessly and writes poems." You see it all the time. But it's not glamourous like in the movies.

JZ in Bitches on the way things should be:

I keep irrationally expecting housework to be like homework -- if you're diligent about it and get everything clean before the due date, you find yourself with a three-month vacation, and after twelve years of doing it, you get to move on to a four-year program where the cleaning is more intense but you're only cleaning the stuff that really interests you, still with the same three-month vacation, and after four years you can either go on to an even shorter program of even more specialized cleaning (say you've gone from doing the dishes to washing the flatware to a 3-year laserlike focus on polishing sterling silver runcible spoons) or call it quits, and then you never have to clean anything again for the rest of your life.

From Muppets to possoms to ninjas...behold the power of Buffistas:

billytea: Trudy, I've been thinking. I reckon you should change your tag from:

"Work with me, Skywalker, or I'll cut you in half."

"Work with me, Skywalker, or I'll cut you in half. AAAAAAGH!! POSSUM!!!"

Theodosia: It's a shame you somehow can't work Trudy jumping across the room to climb up on the sofa between me and Tom Scola in an attempt to improvise a human shield. In her favor was the quickness of her response -- if I hadn't been glancing that way I'd have missed seeing the possum outline pressed against the glass, as some people did.

billytea: She's a nimble sort, isn't she? TrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudy Muppets Muppets
TrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudy Muppets Muppets
TrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudy Muppets Muppets
TrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudyTrudy AAAH, POSSUM, IT'S A POSSUM, POSSUM, A POSSUM...

Trudy: I honestly thought the possum was IN THE HOUSE. You know, like those killers who call when you're babysitting.

billytea: Killer possums are well-known for the mind-games they wage in their campaign of terror. They are mammals, after all.

In Chaka Khan:

Jesse: OK, this is completely random (well, not to me), but does anyone have any ideas where I could get my hands on a karaoke recording of "What Would Brian Boitano Do?"?

Lilty Cash: Jesse, if you do find it, let me know. I, ironically enough, have been looking for one as well. Likely for different reasons. Unless yours has something to do with replacing the words 'Brian Boitano' with 'Johnny Damon', and then making a music video. Then, we are soulmates.

Raquel: After the Heathen Wars of 2006, the US is split into Heathen Pockets (the Northeast Corridor and West Coast) and Fundy Pockets (everything else). The Heathens begin construction of Low-Orbit geosychroneous stations, planning to Get the Hell Out of Dodge, but this takes time. Meanwhile, Fundies in the center of the former US find themselves living in an economic dustbowl, and crops begin rotting in the fields. No longer believing in evolution, family planning, or a spherical earth, they quickly begin to overpopulate and yet are scared to leave the new dustbowl (termed "Damnation Alley" by the Heathens) because they might fall off the edge of the earth, or be forced into sodomy with non-whites. Eventually the middle states decline into human sacrifice, with daily blood offerings to Jehovah.

The Heathen Zones fare little better. Refugees of Heathens from the Fundy Zone stream in daily, overloading the cities and fighting for scarce resources. "Will Sell iPod for Food" signs are seen on every corner. The southern tip of Florida declares its indepedence from the concept of "nation" and incorporates as the first Constitutional MegaCorp. Seattle looks ready to follow suit. Government is abandoned in favor of "Lodge Meetings," but these have no ability to enforce the few decisions made at them. Corporate arcologies begin appearing, their Employee Handbooks taking the place of the American Consitution. The Heathens are split between the liberal activists, who continue to oppose the corporations' environmental policies but live in near anarchy, eating nutri-paste; and the Engineers, who are mainly people of color with educations, trying to provide for their families in the coffin-size rooms of arcologies.

Oddly, Top 40 music, network sitcoms, and fashion magazines are still regularly available.

(Trudy, I was coming here to see if I could post that. Curse your fast wee fingers!)

Beej made me laugh

Me: Also, it makes it against the law to use technology to skip commercials.

Beej: That's it. The handbasket to Hell is officially on fire. That's right. We're going to Hell in a FLAMING hand basket.

Thanks Tommyrot. I feel very well informed by you.

Of course the information makes me want to open a vein, but still...informed.

In Natter:

Betsy: Ooh! I know where to get a trebuchet!

tommyrot: Ye Olde eBay?