journal Archive

The other day I posted the following riddle:

A woman, while at the funeral of her own mother, meets this guy she did not know previously. She thinks this guy is amazing, she believed him to be her dream and she fell in love with him right there. But she did not ask for his number and no matter how hard she tried she could not find him afterwards.

A few days later she killed her sister.

Question: What is her motive in killing her sister?

r_u_b and stygmata and the_yellow_king win for most sexually amusing answers:

r_u_b: “because her dream man was really her sister after a sex change.”

the_yellow_king: “The sister is a transvestite or transsexual. The sister arrived at the funeral from her job, where she acts as a man, and had to change since her family is unaware of her proclivity. The woman was talking to her sister and her sister played along as she did not want the woman to know. The sister told the woman a few days later. The woman then killed her sister in a fury of passion, being straight and unable to deal with the fact that she had fallen in love with her sister as a man.

stygmata: “The sister was the man she fell in love with, cross dressing to the mother’s funeral. She killed her out of shock, and desparation because she’d never be able to have that man (her sister), and because of her sister’s audacity?”

troll_speak wins for most violently amusing answer:

troll_speak: “The man was someone hired by her sister to kill her mother. she finds out that this man was responsible for her mother’s death and because she can not find him, she kills her sister for hiring him to kill their mother.”

zombietruckstop wins for most amusing simple answer:

zombietruckstop: “Her sister was getting all sassy?”

Most of the rest of you either (a) heard it before (b) heard it before and want me to think you are a psycho or (c) ARE PSYCHOS.

“Right” Answer: The woman hopes to see the dreamy guy again and figures if he came to her mother’s funeral, he may come to her sister’s.

Supposedly sociopaths, especially serial killers, always draw an immediate straight line solution to the “right” answer. It is sort of elegant and brilliant in my opinion. Apparently the vast majority of people can not figure it out. I failed to get the “right” answer, but my brother did get it. Fortunately he and I tend not to attend the same funerals. (Note to self there, woodwardiocom.)

I suppose if I appreciate sociopathic thinking, but I do not think that way myself, that explains a lot about my life and why my friends and relatives (and my friends’ relatives) are apparently all psychopaths.

So my ICQ buddy CD sent me this riddle and I got the answer wrong. I am dying to see who on my friends list will get it right, so please post your best guess and all will be revealed later in the week. My journal autoscreens, so there will be no peeking at other people’s answers until I unscreen ’em. No cheating allowed.

A woman, while at the funeral of her own mother, meets this guy she did not know previously. She thinks this guy is amazing, she believed him to be her dream and she fell in love with him right there. But she did not ask for his number and no matter how hard she tried she could not find him afterwards.

A few days later she killed her sister.

Question: What is her motive in killing her sister?

Another Night on the Town

Went to Kelly Lind’s gallery show the other night. Ran into one of my favorite clubland folks who I hadn’t seen in a while which was very cool. Also always nice to see images large and in a solid non-electronic form. Went from there to my pal Clint Catalyst’s club night. Cockblocking was the unspoken theme there I think. Thistle was doing go-go and was made to put his cock (mostly) away. Then Andy Dick did a very lewd impromptu performance and appeared to be totally game to get blown on stage, but he was told to cut it out. Ran into other Blue Blood model/contributor folks and met some cool new people. One charming gent who I had just met that night was talking to another girl I know who was saying that she was going to leave the smoking patio and go back inside because her friend was the one performing. “Oh,” said my new found pal, “is he in pain?” I almost busted a gut trying to keep from laughing.

Rest of the evening’s snapshots posted now at http://www.ameliag.com/galleries/toucheindustry/index.htm. Work to do now. May post snapshots from last night’s suspension extravaganza later.

Went to Kelly Lind’s gallery show the other night. Ran into one of my favorite clubland folks who I hadn’t seen in a while which was very cool. Also always nice to see images large and in a solid non-electronic form. Went from there to my pal Clint Catalyst’s club night. Cockblocking was the unspoken theme there I think. Thistle was doing go-go and was made to put his cock (mostly) away. Then Andy Dick did a very lewd impromptu performance and appeared to be totally game to get blown on stage, but he was told to cut it out. Ran into other Blue Blood model/contributor folks and met some cool new people. One charming gent who I had just met that night was talking to another girl I know who was saying that she was going to leave the smoking patio and go back inside because her friend was the one performing. “Oh,” said my new found pal, “is he in pain?” I almost busted a gut trying to keep from laughing.

Rest of the evening’s snapshots posted now at http://www.ameliag.com/galleries/toucheindustry/index.htm. Work to do now. May post snapshots from last night’s suspension extravaganza later.

Traded in my Bitchin Camaro for a Town Car

I just heard that the bassist for the Dead Milkmen committed suicide. I heard the news, of course, on a webmaster board. I knew these were trying times to be a punk rock girl, but I guess even more trying to be a punk rock boy. Anyone have any idea why?

I remember going to see them when I was in school. They played a frat there. Nice close-up venue. I even remember what I wore that night because my friends teased me about it. Friends of mine drove across six states to hang with me and go that night. Wow.

Everyone I am still in touch with from that time period seemed to be oddly pensive last night. Some kind of zodiac phase of the moon thing I guess.

I just heard that the bassist for the Dead Milkmen committed suicide. I heard the news, of course, on a webmaster board. I knew these were trying times to be a punk rock girl, but I guess even more trying to be a punk rock boy. Anyone have any idea why?

I remember going to see them when I was in school. They played a frat there. Nice close-up venue. I even remember what I wore that night because my friends teased me about it. Friends of mine drove across six states to hang with me and go that night. Wow.

Everyone I am still in touch with from that time period seemed to be oddly pensive last night. Some kind of zodiac phase of the moon thing I guess.

Writing Retreat

I’m looking for a good spa, some place peaceful, where meals and workouts are included and massage is available, but where I can also be left alone with a laptop for long stretches in comfort. High speed internet access a plus obviously. Low carb cuisine preferred.

Anybody have any places they would recommend? I think I would prefer a US location, although Canada would be okay if it was a significant savings or really awesome place.

Rumination on Photography and Permanence

No one really looks as good or as bad as any given picture.

I like photography because it freezes a moment. A photograph can capture someone looking like the incredible glowing star they had the potential to be, even if they never achieve that potential. For that one frame, it is real.

I like pictures. They crystalize the moment.

I moved a lot as a kid. When I got to college, it was my 12th school in twelve years. There are friends I want to remember the faces of more clearly. There are people I loved where I have no visual to remember them by. There are people I loved where I have only photos where they looked bad or only photos where they looked great. But no one really looks as good or as bad as any given picture.

I want to know what happened to my friend Elisabeth Bj-Pederson from high school, but no amount of googling has ever located her. I wish I had something besides a wallet sized class photo of her which captured none of her personality, her warmth, her loyalty, her zest for adventure, her ability to get to the heart of a matter, her beauty.

I want to know what happened to the first person who ever put a finger in my cunt. I want more than half an aged polaroid to remember who they were. Were they as sexy and fine as I remember? More so? At the time, I felt lucky that someone so hot would want me at all, but I didn’t believe the declarations of love at the time. I wish I had more pictures of that time. The ones I have, I look cuter than I remember, but they don’t seem like enough of a sampling.

Someone who was my friend in real life long before there was an Lj just posted that he had just looked at pictures of himself from a long time ago and realized that he looked attractive then. He was a heartbreaker. Charming, witty, stylin’, and definitely cute. I have vivid movies in my head of parties at his mom’s house. I would always sit on his lap when I came through town, no matter who he was theoretically dating at the time, whether or not she was in the room. We never fucked. Now we never will. But I wish I could look at the pictures in my head where they are blurry or possibly misremembered.

In fact, I think that the only two people on my friends list who are people I made out with in the past BOTH posted fuck-I’m-getting-old/fat/not as rich as I expected type posts tonight. WTF?

I love having a digital snapshot camera with a good autofocus. I am getting older and wiser and apparently wisdom is painful. But having a good camera like this allows me to preserve the happy moments. The fun, the pleasure, the warmth, the good times, the memories that feel good.

Of course, because I do pro photography, most people with cameras are tense about taking my picture.

And the two most important people in my life now both dislike having their picture taken. Even when they submit, the pictures don’t feel to me like they capture much of who they are. So I just look from all angles and try to commit it all to memory and remind myself that no one really looks as good or as bad as any given picture.

I’m looking for a good spa, some place peaceful, where meals and workouts are included and massage is available, but where I can also be left alone with a laptop for long stretches in comfort. High speed internet access a plus obviously. Low carb cuisine preferred.

Anybody have any places they would recommend? I think I would prefer a US location, although Canada would be okay if it was a significant savings or really awesome place.

No one really looks as good or as bad as any given picture.

I like photography because it freezes a moment. A photograph can capture someone looking like the incredible glowing star they had the potential to be, even if they never achieve that potential. For that one frame, it is real.

I like pictures. They crystalize the moment.

I moved a lot as a kid. When I got to college, it was my 12th school in twelve years. There are friends I want to remember the faces of more clearly. There are people I loved where I have no visual to remember them by. There are people I loved where I have only photos where they looked bad or only photos where they looked great. But no one really looks as good or as bad as any given picture.

I want to know what happened to my friend Elisabeth Bj-Pederson from high school, but no amount of googling has ever located her. I wish I had something besides a wallet sized class photo of her which captured none of her personality, her warmth, her loyalty, her zest for adventure, her ability to get to the heart of a matter, her beauty.

I want to know what happened to the first person who ever put a finger in my cunt. I want more than half an aged polaroid to remember who they were. Were they as sexy and fine as I remember? More so? At the time, I felt lucky that someone so hot would want me at all, but I didn’t believe the declarations of love at the time. I wish I had more pictures of that time. The ones I have, I look cuter than I remember, but they don’t seem like enough of a sampling.

Someone who was my friend in real life long before there was an Lj just posted that he had just looked at pictures of himself from a long time ago and realized that he looked attractive then. He was a heartbreaker. Charming, witty, stylin’, and definitely cute. I have vivid movies in my head of parties at his mom’s house. I would always sit on his lap when I came through town, no matter who he was theoretically dating at the time, whether or not she was in the room. We never fucked. Now we never will. But I wish I could look at the pictures in my head where they are blurry or possibly misremembered.

In fact, I think that the only two people on my friends list who are people I made out with in the past BOTH posted fuck-I’m-getting-old/fat/not as rich as I expected type posts tonight. WTF?

I love having a digital snapshot camera with a good autofocus. I am getting older and wiser and apparently wisdom is painful. But having a good camera like this allows me to preserve the happy moments. The fun, the pleasure, the warmth, the good times, the memories that feel good.

Of course, because I do pro photography, most people with cameras are tense about taking my picture.

And the two most important people in my life now both dislike having their picture taken. Even when they submit, the pictures don’t feel to me like they capture much of who they are. So I just look from all angles and try to commit it all to memory and remind myself that no one really looks as good or as bad as any given picture.

Adventures in the First Person

I’ve got my snapshots posted now at http://www.AmeliaG.com/galleries/pillsreleaseparty/index.htm from the Pills, Thrills, Chills, and Heartache release party in Los Angeles. The book’s editor my fab friend Clint Catalyst was the host for the evening’s festivities. The book includes fiction by yours truly, but y’all probably know that already.

I especially love the shot of Forrest and Thistle and I have to say Xavier was looking mighty fine that night too.

I’ve got my snapshots posted now at http://www.AmeliaG.com/galleries/pillsreleaseparty/index.htm from the Pills, Thrills, Chills, and Heartache release party in Los Angeles. The book’s editor my fab friend Clint Catalyst was the host for the evening’s festivities. The book includes fiction by yours truly, but y’all probably know that already.

I especially love the shot of Forrest and Thistle and I have to say Xavier was looking mighty fine that night too.

I’ll have them cut you

I’ll have my posse cut you, man, I’m not fucking around!

Snarfed from lunabella who got it who knows where. I love Sesame Street. I want a gang of toughs to follow me around, heavily armed, and wearing fun fur. Cookie has got my back, yo!

I’ll have my posse cut you, man, I’m not fucking around!

Snarfed from lunabella who got it who knows where. I love Sesame Street. Sometimes I like to end the workday with some happy muppets. I want a gang of toughs to follow me around, heavily armed, and wearing fun fur. Cookie has got my back, yo!

Excess Hard Cock

So I just read a warning on Levitra which says,” Men who experience an erection for more than four hours should seek immediate medical attention.” I consider four hours to be longer than immediate, but I guess I am wacky that way.