Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
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or Search by State

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Contact The Media
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Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Thursday, June 17, 2010  
Amidst all the crap in my life right now I vowed that I would not be felled by Father's Day this year. I'm a fatherless on Father's Day pro, now. I'm through The First Year. Everything's supposed to be easier and less emotional after all the firsts are on calendar pages past.

Part of the plan was retail establishment avoidance. And that helped. A lot. After last year's Father's Day Target Meltdown I learned the best defense is avoidance. Very easy this year since I'm unemployed and don't go anywhere except my telemarketing gig.

Since LOST ended I don't watch a lot of television - other than Spongebob - so not a lot of playing on emotions Father's Day sales ads to avoid.

So the avoidance technique has helped, a lot.

Father's Day itself will still be rough - I know it will.

I dunno. The whole "gets easier after the first year" thing doesn't seem to be ringing true. Maybe it would be easier if I had a crappy or even mediocre dad. But I have a great dad. And I miss him.

A few months ago my mother assigned me the task of sorting through a file drawer in my dad's office. We've been slowly going through stuff. We're making progress. But my dad's office...ugh. My mother and I avoid it as much as possible. But it reached the point where we can't avoid it, we have to deal with stuff in there. My mother asked me to go through a file drawer that had a bunch of warranties and instruction manuals and receipts for appliances, tools...dad stuff.

My mother is receipt crazy. She's big on keeping receipts. My mother's voice echoes in my head a lot. And quite often the reverberating words say, "Make sure you get a receipt." Or, "You did keep the receipt, didn't you?"

My dad learned early in their marriage that one of the keys to keeping harmony in their marriage was getting and keeping receipts. I found receipts and warranties dating back to a few months after their marriage. They weren't filed and labeled all neatly and organized, but it wasn't a haphazard mess, either. It was kind of sort of chronological. And a lot like an archeological excavation in a tomb that was used by several dynasties through several ruling countries. 17th century Roman coins next to 5th century Asian silk next to 12th century Celtic pottery.

I hit a vein of receipts for stuff  like appliances and carpet and a lawnmower and a crib. Yeah. A crib. Based on the date on the receipt my mother signed for the delivery of it a few months before my birthday. It's been a long, long time since I slept in a crib. But my dad still had the receipt for my crib. I was chuckling at that, knowing my dad would have tossed the receipt but didn't because he thought my mother might want to refer to it at some point. Because that's what my mother does. She refers to receipts. And woe to the person who can't proffer a receipt when my mother requests one. We even have a joke about it in our family. "Did you get a receipt?" "Let's have a look at the receipt." "Keep the receipt!"

So I was smirking a knowing and conspiratorial smirk to my dad about the receipt for my baby crib. When they found out they were expecting a third child (me), my parents decided to buy a bigger home. A bigger home way out in the country, far away from the city. It was a long commute for my dad but worth it for the peace and quiet out in the country. And how great for us kids to have a huge yard and the freedom to run and ride bikes all over the place without worry? The receipts from that era tell a story of a family going through a growth spurt and life style change. Receipts for a lawnmower - riding; a washer/dryer combo; a freezer; carpet for four rooms- a staircase and hall; a crib. And a baby.

Yep.

Right there in my dad's warranty and receipt file was a small yellow slip of paper from the county clerk's office. In the info portion there's a handwritten notation, "Baby girl McMillian, $3.25. Cash. Rendered to father." Cash was underlined. Twice.

Yes. My dad paid $3.25 (cash) for me. He kept the receipt to prove it. The date on the receipt was about seven days after my birth.

My mother told me "back then" mothers and babies stayed in the hospital several days, even a week, after delivery. (Her editorial comment was, "That was a much better idea than how they rush mothers and babies home so quickly now. Mothers need some time to rest and adjust.") And before you could leave the hospital with your baby you had to get the birth certificate from the county clerk's office. Kind of like proof of insurance when you take delivery of a new car. Proof of paternal ownership. You show up with a birth certificate from the county clerk's office, you get the baby. My dad was sent to procure the birth certificate from the county clerk's office so they could take me home.

But. The receipt, by itself, looks like a receipt for a baby. A baby who cost $3.25. Cash. (Underlined twice.)

Okay, I get the whole county clerk rigmarole. And I understand my father's concern about keeping my mother happy by keeping receipts. But. The reason my mother is so funny about receipts is that she worries about the "just in case it breaks or you have to return it" possibilities. My mother also believes that paying in cash gives the consumer negotiating power. But it also comes with risks so you always have to get a receipt when you pay cash for anything. Even a baby.

But.

Um.

Still.

Tucked in amongst a receipt for a lawnmower, carpet and a freezer was a receipt for me.

I'm sure my mother's "be sure to get a receipt" advice was ringing in my dad's ears when he went to procure the birth certificate. But why did he keep it all these years?

I thought when I dug deeper on my excavation I'd find receipts for my brother and sister. I thought it would be funny to give them to them. "Dad kept the receipts for us!"

But I never found receipts for my brother or sister. Maybe I was special. They thought they might need proof of ownership. Or maybe he and my mother had concerns. "Keep that receipt. Just in case she breaks or we want to return her..."

Or my dad tucked the receipt away with all the other receipts of that hectic time and forgot about it.

And many years later I unearthed it, the first time it saw the light of day since way back then. As a stand-alone piece of paper - without the information my mother gave me about having to procure the birth certificate from the county clerk's office before taking the new baby home - it's pretty funny. "Baby Girl...rendered to father...$3.25. Cash." I'm keeping it, maybe even get it framed. My dad paid $3.25, cash, for me. He kept the receipt to prove it.

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11:08 PM

 
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