Tuesday, April 30, 2002

This Day in History!

Besides me being born, here's what else happened on this day:

• Zed sent me the most gorgeous flowers and gave me more gifts than I deserve
• France sold the U.S. Louisiana
• Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun committed suicide
• Mr. Potato Head makes its TV ad debut
• Comet Hale-Bopp was very perky
• The Vietnam War ended
• Police raided the Hemp BC and the Cannibis Cafe in Vancouver
• Ice cream cone makes its debut
• Ellen DeGeneris came out as a lesbian (to 42 million viewers)
• Cloris Leachman was born
• Willie Nelson was born
• Kirsten Dunst was born
• Jill Clayburgh was born
• Isiah Thomas was born
• Johnny Galecki (David from "Rosanne") was born
My Birthday Haiku

Forty-nine is great
I can still function just fine
As long as I nap...

My love is younger
But she has all silver hair
Redken makes mine brown

At my age I can
Still cut the mustard, but I
Sometimes forget to

My measurements have
Finally combined to match
My IQ number

When I was your age
I used to do many things
But I forget what

Age: just a number
Alas, mine is so high now
It freaks me out bad!

Forty-nine is odd
I must care for my skin
With Oil of Old Age!

Monday, April 29, 2002

Bloggy Housekeeping

I have deleted some bloglinks because they were dead or dying.
No offense to anyone, I just hate to send my four readers to the same old site to see the same posts from last month.
Use it or lose it, baby!
Grey Bird turned me on blogroller, which means I can add or delete bloglinks like a maniac! I will try to link readers to consistently fresh blogs and weed out the slackers.
I have also joined some sort of dyke blog-glob thing I have no idea how to use. I just wanted to be cool like the Bird.
I have some blog sites I want to add, so look for them in the next few days.
The Dreaded Nut Cut

I finally did it.
I schedule my baby kitten James' fuzzy little butterscotch colored testicles to be removed on Wednesday, May 1.
Okay, he's not a baby, he's 8 months old and 14 pounds.
And his nuts aren't little, they are the size of a fig.
I have postponed it because I couldn't bear to leave him overnight in a vet's office.
But I have a nice faggot veterinarian who understands testes.
He's expensive but hey, James is worth it.
And they say if I don't get them removed soon, he'll piss on Zed's shoes because she'll threaten his domain when she's on "his side of the bed."
And we can't have that.
Not About Priests This Time

Holy cow!
My kitten James was apparently sick yesterday, hiding under the bed and skulking around all afternoon. I was worried he had something major wrong with him, but he's perfectly normal today, so that's a huge load off my mind.

Summer is here now. It should hit 94ยบ today, so that means its time to switch my bed linens to something less sweltering. My feather bed and down comforter seem just a tad ridiculous in this weather- though I do keep my house cool in the summer.

The feather bed is this ridiculously huge, non-channeled pile of feathers that shifts all over and makes my bed an additional foot high. I once asked a dry cleaner if he cleaned down comforters and he said yes, for $16. So I loaded the damn thing into my car and it took up the entire trunk. He said it took 4 hours in the dryer! HA! Said he'd have to charge me $50 next time.

Zed will be here in fewer than three weeks. I am starting to notice all the spider webs and cracks and chips and other flaws in my house. Looks like I am down for some serious spring cleaning and eliminating some of the piles of books and papers and clothes and shoes and kitten toys, lest she think me insane.

And I have to quit smoking.
Since tomorrow's my birthday, I will quit then. I have all sorts of Nicorette gum and little mints and stuff, but the best incentive to quit is that smoking is disgusting and stinky and horrible.
I had quit last year but started again in Canada, where I was with the world's most exasperating woman. She would have made Mother Teresa start hacking butts.

So... that's what's on my plate this week.
More Catholic Insanity

"The calls for (Cardinal Bernard) Law's resignation increased this month with the release of 1,600 archdiocese documents that reveal the Rev. Paul Shanley's involvement with the North American Man-Boy Love Association (NAMBLA)."
Swell, now they tell us this priest was a member of NAMBLA and Bernie "Butt Boy" Law just transferred him around from parish to parish?
I don't care what NAMBLA has managed to accomplish regarding its ties to the gay and lesbian community, it's a group of grown men who have sex with underage boys and it's sickening.
I am beginning to think Bernie Law must be a pedophile himself. This nitwit has to go, he has no common sense or common decency.

Friday, April 26, 2002

Priestly Haiku

Okay, it's about time my favorite scandal is memorialized in 5-7-5.

Your Holiness, Sir
There's a problem in our church...
Tattletale children!

Bless you, my children
Especially the blonde ones
They are more my type

"Father, I have sinned."
"You think you've sinned?" Father asks.
"I'll show you sin, kid!"

For your penance, son
Kneel down, pray for forgiveness
Yeah, baby, right there

In a priest's luggage:
A rosary, Bible and
Some Pokemon toys

Father O'Leary
Such a fine Catholic priest
(Hasn't been caught yet)

Parish needs new priest
Must have references and bring
His own AstroGlide

Pope John Paul reflects:
This is a bad thing indeed
I blame MTV!

Another Archbishop's Double-talk

San Antonio Archbishop Patrick Flores is apparently joining his colleagues in the continuing lies and cover-up of pedophile priests.
A San Antonio man, now serving in the Navy in San Diego, said yesterday he was offered $200,000 in hush money from the diocese to settle a civil suit against the church and the priest who had molested him over a three-year period when he was a small child.
The priest is currently in prison for notorious and serial molestation of youngsters.
Flores said, "I don't know anything about him being offered $200,000. It must have been offered by the lawyers."
The archbishop apparently thinks we don't know that lawyers ALWAYS act as the go-between when offering to settle civil suits out of court. Who does he think he's kidding?
Add another archbishop to the Catholic Bullshitter's Olympics.
Zoe Had to Go

Last night on Survivor, Zoe the suspiciously dykey fishing boat captain from Maine, was voted off the island.
Most expected either Robert, the dimwitted yet cranky limo driver, or Tammy the sneaky crime reporter to get the boot, but I think Zoe inched ahead when she made cornball shell jewelry for all the ladies in a classic ass-kissing maneuver after she'd screwed them all over.
Tammy wretched from the sidelines as she watched her former ally Zoe billing and cooing over the other players, muttering angrily to herself all the while. Tammy has interesting teeth, like two big white poker chips.
For sheer television joy, angryyoungblackman Sean got to go on a special field trip with grizzled old white southern judge Paschal, where they were all but French kissing at a special luau planned just for them.
Now that Sean is tight with the nerdy new in-crowd, he's charming, funny and very emotional. He cried actual tears talking about his mama. And Paschal just loves Sean after their male bonding experience.
Neleh, the meek little Mormon, is turning out to be quite the little pistol. Now she and old Paschal are lip kissing to celebrate victories. Tres Lolita!
Kathy is basically the only one who's been a consistent, standup player. I think she's got a little Sapphic side that I kinda like.
Look to Tammy or Robert to get the next ax.

Thursday, April 25, 2002

Weird Hits

I was looking at some of the search keywords that bring readers to my blog and I was freaked out by all the Fruit Stripe Gum hits.
Imagine some nice, middle aged housewife from Des Moines, wanting to relive her innocent childhood by reading about Fruit Stripe Gum ...and she hits my site.
Then she hits some of my links to other sites and finds herself neck-deep in lesbian Blogland. Then she reads BarCodeKing and wonders how the hell he got in. Hahahaha!

You want more traffic on your site? Use phrases that excite the curious. They don't have to be true or have descriptive text with them...
Brad Pitt's gay secrets <--good for 10 hits
Britney Spear's lost virginity <--chalk up another 15 hits
Cardinal Bernard Law's nudie pix <--woo hoo!
Hillary's lesbian lovers <--20 hits
Bin Laden found dead <--12 hits
Tom Cruise's secret gay life <--15 hits
Fruit Stripe Gum <-40 hits

Thanks, Cheri

I am so proud to have won the haiku contest over at Cheri's blog TECH FLUID.
This makes the third online prize I have won. The first was an essay contest about screwing Bill Clinton, for which I won an "I screwed Bill Clinton too, where's my book deal?" T shirt.
The second was a Halloween costume party online. I went as Harry Potter (credit Photoshop) and won a cool packet of Harry Potter trading cards.
Now I have won from TECH FLUID something like 50,000 ads for my blogsite that will go somewhere for some length of time.
I feel like Sally Field accepting her Oscar. Except she's a horrible bitch and I am, well, not that horrible a bitch...

Wednesday, April 24, 2002

The Vatican Decision:

AP Story: VATICAN CITY (April 24) - After an extraordinary meeting sparked by a sex abuse scandal, American Roman Catholic leaders agreed Wednesday to make it easier to remove priests guilty of sexually abusing minors - but they stopped short of a zero-tolerance policy to dismiss all abusive clerics.

The American church leaders said they would recommend a special process to defrock any priest who has become ''notorious and is guilty of the serial, predatory sexual abuse of minors.'' In cases that are ''not notorious'' they would leave it up to the local bishop to decide if such a priest is a threat to children and should be defrocked.................."

Bullshit! If ANY priest is discovered molesting ANY kid, he should be defrocked and turned over to the police IMMEDIATELY.
A zero tolerance policy is the only policy that will slow the cancerous growth on the Catholic church. A priest shouldn't have to be a "serial molester" to be busted any more than a murderer should have to be a serial murderer before he or she is busted.

The meeting at the Vatican was a waste of time. Once again, the Catholic church hierarchy takes the chicken shit route out and tries to stop a gushing wound with a Q-Tip and a little holy water.

So, if I am a pedophile male considering career options, I am still liking my chances with the Catholic church. I'd have to be "notorious" and be guilty of "serial molestation" before I'd lose my heavenly credentials.

Part 2: The List Continues

27. My doctor listened to Limp Bizkit while she was giving me a hysterectomy.
28. I watched "The Osbournes" and Ozzy was the only one I could understand!
29. Wearing "Depends" is only a matter of when, not if.
30. Fastening too many buttons on a shirt make my hands cramp.
31. I chuckle when I pass the tampon aisle at the grocery store.
32. I say "oopffhh" when I rise from a chair.
34. I say "ahhh" when I sit down.
35. Whittlin' sounds like it could be a fun hobby.
36. My car radio is set to NPR.
37. I am considering getting "the Clapper."
38. The bagboy asks if I want help carrying a bag containing lettuce and a loaf of bread.
39. Soon I may get to grow legal pot for treatment of glaucoma.
40. VH1 plays too many annoyingly loud songs.
41. When I say "fuck" in public, people don't think it was me.
42. I buy my underwear at Walmart and have no shame in admitting it.
43. I remember when Sharon Gless was a hot babe.
44. I remember when Vanessa Redgrave was a hot babe.
45. I remember when Cher wasn't spooky looking.
46. I see men my age and thank God I'm gay.
47. I see women my age and thank God I love younger women.
48. I see women in their 20's and feel like a pedophile for looking.
49. I'm still standing, feeling pretty good and happily in love.
Forty-nine Items: Part 1

In less than a week, I'll cross the threshold into my latest of late 40's.
Yep, I'll turn 49 next Tuesday.
Last year, I started fretting about turning 48, then I got cancer and had it removed and 48 suddenly seemed like a happy age...and it was a great year.
Here are 49 items to describe what it feels like to turn 49.

1. My ankles hurt!
2. Suddenly, elastic waist pants seem extra comfy.
3. My eyeglasses keep going in and out of their prescription.
4. Cops don't notice me.
5. Young men don't notice me.
6. Neither do young women.
7. I am too young to get senior discounts but too old to haunt gay bars.
8. The Grammies give awards to people I don't know.
9. I am starting to admire old ladies who have the courage to dye their hair blue.
10. I am grateful my breasts have stayed in the same vicinity all these years.
11. My girlfriend will be 41 this year and I consider her a young whippersnapper.
12. I will try not to smell like any pain ointments when we meet.
13. I compare RX meds with pals and envy some for getting cooler ones than me.
14. I am afraid to see what's under this hair color.
15. I have to consider my crowns before I eat something chewy.
16. Bathing suits: hahahahahaha! Please.
17. Orange juice and bananas give me heartburn. So does toast.
18. I get way too much mail from funeral homes and insurance companies.
19. I pay more attention to ads for medicines- just in case I may need them.
20. I forget what I am saying and doing way too often.
21. I forget where I put things.
22. My doctors recognize my voice when I call.
23. I have more than one doctor.
24. My family has stopped calling me "the baby of the family."
24. My first cousins are someone's grandparents by now.
25. I can't tell what make a car is anymore.
26. Forty-nine is such a huge number I have to continue this list on another blog!

Tuesday, April 23, 2002

Fiesta San Antonio!

The week is Fiesta in San Antonio.
It's like Mardi Gras, only less Cajun and more Mexican. There are parades night and day, a night parade on the river, festivals, concerts, air shows, dances, coronations, etc. Basically there's 10 days of stuff going on. Downtown is a mess of tourists, locals and millions and zillions of kids.
I have Achilles tendonitis.
Walking a hundred blocks, then standing around drinking beer or margaritas is probably the worst thing I can do for it.
So I am going to skip all but the most essential parts of Fiesta.
My cousin Cindy is in town from NYC and she wants to do at least a little Fiesta-ing with me. Tonight is "A Night in Old San Antonio." It's contained in an ancient shopping area downtown and consists of lots of live music, food and people standing around drinking beer and margaritas. Oy, my ankles are throbbing at the thought of it.
Maybe I can put her off a few days...
Show Bidness

Harrison Ford's pals are telling gossip queens like Ted Casablancas that Ford is head over heels in love with Calista Flockhart and the couple may marry.
I think they are a perfect match. He's an old, craggy geezer with a dimwit facial expression, and she's a bone skinny waif who shares the same vacuous facial expression.
I have never understood the appeal of either.
I like the Ally McBeal Show, but Calista reminds me of one of those women who could change personalities in an instant and claw your face off in a rage.
Harrison just seems like the type who would nod off in the middle of a conversation and awaken in a fugue state.

Robert Blake has pleaded not guilty in charges he killed his wife. What a surprise!
His attorneys said, "There is a killer somewhere out there, running free."
I think the killer running free must be at an L.A. Krispy Kreme, having coffee with Nicole Brown Simpson's killer running free.
Let's just hope the L.A. District Attorney puts prosecutors on the case who aren't as dumb as Marcia Clark and Chris Darden. And God forbid Judge Lance Ito gets his damp little hands on the case.
I hope they don't air this trial on TV. It'll last three times as long.

Linda Lovelace of "Deep Throat" fame died in a car accident on Monday at the age of 53.
After reading her book, "Ordeal" I always felt sorry for her.
Her first husband forced her to make the movie, and was said to be the one who taught her the technique that made her famous.
The movie made $600 million for the producers. Lovelace was not paid, but her husband made about $1,200 from her role.
May her first husband rest in the Yoko Ono Muzak section of hell.

Looks like the American Catholic cardinals got a Papal ass chewing at the Vatican yesterday. Though Pope JP couched his remarks in that quaint 1700s style, he did make his message clear: Screwing around with kids is no longer a sin, it's also a crime!
Seems like the cardinals in attendance are wanting Boston Cardinal Bernie Boy Toy Law to be fired, but that matter was not yet discussed at the summit meeting.
Bernie admitted to his colleagues, "If I hadn't made some terrible mistakes, we probably all wouldn't be here.''
He reportedly refused to resign, at a secret meeting at the Vatican last week.
My bet is he'll be fired and used as a sacrificial lamb by the Vatican to symbolize it's new zero tolerance policy. Or, maybe not.
Surprisingly, the pedophilia matter did not turn into a gay bashing extravaganza during the meeting. I guess enough of the cardinals are gay and they didn't want to add homophobia to their myriad other human flaws.

Monday, April 22, 2002

Classic Bushisms

• You know, this is a fabulous country we have. I don't know what the enemy was thinking when they hit us. They must have thought all we were going to was file a lawsuit or something.
-- White House, Apr. 18, 2002

• I believe that one of these days we're going to have brand new types of cars that are going to make us less dependent on foreign sources of crude oil, and we'll be more better at cleaning our air.
-- Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Apr. 15, 2002

• This doesn't have nothing to do with reputation.
-- the New York Times, Apr. 8, 2002

• I mean, after all, you might remember that some of the initial discussions after September the 11th about potential threat was about crop dusters. Now, they don't have a lot of crop dusters, you know, in Manhattan. They've got a lot of crop dusters in South Carolina or Texas. In other words, some of the intelligence we were getting was that not only were the enemy willing to use airplanes, obviously, as weapons, but what we were concerned about was that they would use other methods -- like using a crop duster to spray a weapons of mass destruction, if possible. It's an indication that we had to be on alert to defend all sites and all locations in our country.
-- Greenville, South Carolina, Mar. 27, 2002

We're a peaceful nation and moving along just right and just kind of having a time, and all of a sudden, we get attacked and now we're at war, but we're at war to keep the peace.
-- White House, Mar. 13, 2002

He is -- as I mentioned in my speech, I do mention the fact that this is a fellow who is willing to commit youngsters to their death and he, himself, tries to hide -- if, in fact, he's hiding at all.
-- On Osama bin Laden, White House, Mar. 13, 2002

• If you see somebody who you don't know getting into a crop duster that doesn't belong to you, report them.
-- Oct. 2001 press conference, answering question about what Americans can do to recognize terrorist threats

Sunday, April 21, 2002


After attending Game One of the NBA playoffs yesterday and watching my beloved Spurs kick the living shit out of Seattle, I am too obsessed with the playoffs to concentrate on much of anything right now besides basketball, Zed, eating and sleeping.
Zed comes first, of course, but the NBA is a sly and treacherous mistress.
The good news is, if there's a playoff game when Zed is in town late next month, she's going to get to see them with me in person. That is, if she wants to.
Game Two is Monday night. Stay tuned.

Saturday, April 20, 2002

Oh, Jesus!

I see the Catholics are trotting out Jesus to try to rehab their pedophile image.
Check out:
Insirational Sports Statues to see statuettes of Jesus playing different sports with children.
You can actually purchase them.
Too bad there's no curling with Jesus statue, Zed's got a birthday coming up.
Wait...there is hockey.
Stupidity and Addiction

My best friend Anna is a psychotherapist.
She says, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." I agree, and I use that adage as much as I can in my own life.
Another friend of mine, we'll call Anne, has been in and out of an abusive relationship for around three years.
Her "lover" Roberta has beaten her to the point where she was not well enough to drive home. She has put bruises on Anne's neck trying to strangle her. She has knocked her down, thrown things at her and locked her out of her apartment.
She is verbally abusive as well. All she apparently likes about Anne is her looks and having sex with her. Even the sex requires Anne to do things she doesn't like.
Finally a few weeks ago, Roberta told Anne she wanted to get into "polyamory," which to her meant she got to screw around with other women and keep Anne on the side.
Anne was furious and broke up with Roberta. The beatings were not enough to dump her, but apparently cheating was a boundary Anne could keep.
So, after I write miles of encouraging e-mail and pep talks, Anne is spending the weekend with Roberta.
She can't take phone calls or read e-mail while Roberta is with her, because it causes Roberta to go into a paranoid, jealous rage.
But, they have reconciled and Anne assures me she knows what she's doing.
Seems to me if Anne knew what she was doing, she would have dumped Roberta the first time she felt a fist in the face.
If Zed ever hit me, the next thing she'd feel was my front door, shoving her ass outside for good. If I ever hit her, she'd leave, never return, and be right in doing so.
What do we do when a friend is subjecting herself to domestic violence?
What do we say?

Friday, April 19, 2002


Actor Robert Blake was arrested and charged yesterday with the murder of his wife Bonny Lee Bakely.
She was a con artist who preyed on horny and lonely men, offering nude pics of herself in exchange for money and gifts. She also had a little quickie marriage thing going for some of her trampy galpals.
They should get Judge Judy and try this case on the Jerry Springer Show.
Jurors could be Maury Povich, Sally Jesse Rafael, Jenny Jones, Montel Williams, Rikki Lake, Paula Poundstone, Mr. T, Carrot Top, Emeril Lagasse, Vanna White, Pat Sajak and Alan Thicke.

Charles and Camilla

Bookies in the UK are taking bets on when the horsey couple will marry. Odds are on the year 2004. Brits are 40 percent behind them getting hitched, but soundly against would-be King Charles making her Queen or Princess Camilla.
When asked if she was happy now that their relationship was out in the open, Camilla pounded the ground with her front hoof and whinnied delightedly.

Canadian Military Group Bombed by American Air Force

Enough already. We haven't found bin Laden, we have stirred up too much extra shit in an already insane region, and now we are bombing the military equivalent of baby harp seals, our Canadian allies, in a moronic, accidental sortie.
The U.S. should pay every dead Canadian soldier's family a million dollars each, pay all medical expenses and a permanent stipend to those wounded, and offer an international apology to the Canadians for our Air Force's sheer stupidity.
When we start accidentally bombing allies, this billion dollar a day Keystone Kops routine has to end.
Our mission has failed and we need to shelve it until we have a Commander in Chief who has a higher than 91 point IQ, military leaders who can actually accomplish missions and diplomats who can successfully influence warring factions.

Survivor Shock!

They voted off John the gay nurse last night in a shocking move to dilute the strongest alliance in the tribe.
Seems a trivia challenge involving cutting down each player's three ropes holding coconuts revealed everyone's pecking order, and the alliance that John led was openly displayed.
The crusty old judge Paschal and his mousy acolyte Neleh the Mormon saw they were next after the black folks, so they got even at the Tribal Council vote and gave John the ax.
Sean and Vecepia, the black contestants, were given a new lease on life and it looks like lazy Sean bought himself more time.
Vecepia is cool, she's like the reverend of the show who's always thanking Jesus for one thing or another. Sean is cute as hell, but that angry black man thing is just tedious.
I was sad to see John go, being the token queer and all, but his weepy farewell remarks were a little too much to take. Chin quivering makes me nervous.
Flying under the radar are the oafish chauffeur Robert, Tammy the crime reporter and Zoe, the fishing boat captain and suspected dyke.
This is a great time to tune in- the snakes are starting to hiss and everyone who gets voted off now becomes a juror.

Thursday, April 18, 2002

Playoffs Tension

The NBA Playoffs start this weekend and already my hatred for the L.A. Lakers is starting to overshadow my love for the San Antonio Spurs.
I have tickets for Game One of the playoffs against the boring Seattle Super Sonics, and I am already looking past Round One to see who we'll get in Round Two.
I don't care who wins the title this year as long as its not the Lakers. I hate them. I hate their coach. I hate Shaquille O'Neal.
This emotional combustion is harmful to my love life and social life. I can't help it, the playoffs seep into my consciousness and become an obsession.
I can't even see the colors gold and bluish purple without thinking of the evil Lakers empire. I want to see them beaten into oblivion.
I may have to watch my hormones. I think the testosterone is taking over.
Please God, just let the Lakers get swept out of the playoffs. By anyone. That's all I ask.

Wednesday, April 17, 2002

More TV Ads That Bother Me

I can't take any medication ad that mentions side effects. There was one, warning about gas, explosive diarrhea and anal leakage that made me queasy.
In fact, I don't eat WOW brand potato chips because they contain Olestra, which warns of anal leakage. I don't ever want to have that problem.
I don't like douche commercials. They always come on when I am around my brother or nephews and it's embarrassing. Besides, who wants their vagina to smell like a floral meadow? Those douche makers need to come up with better scents and flavors, like cinnamon buns, or maybe chocolate.
I don't like Red Lobster commercials. They overstyle the food and make it look much better than it is. Ditto to the Olive Garden. The ad where they show the guy taking his relative from Italy to that restaurant is absurd. Baloney Alfredo is just not going to impress Uncle Luigi from Tuscany.
Welch's Grape Juice ads featuring pretty little girls. These kids are way too articulate and precocious, and I am still too wigged out about the Catholic church and rampant pedophilia to want to see "sexy little girls" on TV. It's just plain creepy.
Spice Girls McDonald's ads. Or is it Burger King? No matter. What I really really want is for them to disappear.
Any AT&T ad with Carrot Top or Mr. T in them. Both make my flesh crawl.
Like Shari said over at Decaf Venti No Whip Mocha, those "Can You Hear Me Now?" Verizon ads make me want to shoot out the TV screen.
TV ads are only good for one thing. They allow for bathroom and snack breaks.

Tuesday, April 16, 2002

Bad Ads

There is a Mitsubishi ad that drives me crazy. It's a night time scene, and a woman in the front passenger seat is wearing pink with a big pink 60's style floppy hat and doing this creepy dance with her freakishly long arms and elbows while her companion, the driver, watches with a huge smile.
The music is voice manipulated like Cher's "Believe" and the lyrics contain the phrase "without you." I just hate it.
Then in San Antonio, every month is TRUCK MONTH, and every auto company in the area panders TV ads to the lowest common denominator, the shitkicker/cowboy contingency.
Their ads are thick with country music and images of big guys with big pickup trucks doing big work in the big outdoors.
Truth is, only a tiny percentage of these pencil dick pickup truck drivers ever go off the paved highway with their trucks.
My neighbors on all sides have pickups and I know for sure they aren't cowboys.
Louie is a locksmith, Pete works for the city, Andy works for a sign company and Margie works for a uniform company. All could get by easily driving a Honda Civic.
Trucks in Texas represent fear, same as guns do. You are 3 feet above the traffic in a pickup truck, safe, secure and wasting gasoline like a fool.
Ecology aside, I don't care if people drive pickups, I just hate the TV ads. Please make them stop.

Monday, April 15, 2002

Stormy Monday

A storm's brewing outside. The wind is whipping up and a few big splat raindrops are hitting my driveway.
I figured I'd carry James outside to my front porch so he could see the effects of the wind and smell the rain in the air.
Turns out he's a big titty baby. He just balled himself up in my arms and started to tremble. Ha! Some mountain lion he turned out to be. He even buried his fuzzy little head in my arms.
My kitties don't even try to get outside. They are scared of outside. They do like car rides, though.
I was planning to get some errands accomplished today, but with the rain coming it's not a good day to go out. San Antonio drivers don't like inclement weather. They get in wrecks when it rains, and the rare snow we get causes the whole city to shut down.
San Antonio keeps getting funded for major road renovation and building, so half the town is always in a state of messy road repairs.
They are building a huge cloverleaf thing at the junction of two freeways here, and the main street near my house is always torn up. I think they are in cahoots with tire and alignment companies, because things can't possibly take this long to fix. It's like the video game Sim City when people forget to fund road maintenance.
Obviously, I have nothing to write about today. I am just doing this to avoid work I have to do.

Sunday, April 14, 2002

The Work of Byron Katie

Hoo boy. Yesterday in Austin, my best friend Anna and I attended the first and last 15 minutes of "The Work of Byron Katie," which is sort of an organization like est was in the 70's and early 80's.
Byron Katie is a new age guru who makes a living off selling platitudes to people seeking enlightenment.
Byron Katie seemed to be a charismatic and attractive sort, but when she said, "There's nothing that happens in life that is not okay," Anna and I looked at each other and booked it outta there. We left her husband Brad there to soak up the rest of the wisdom of Byron Katie, and we went shopping for books.
I bought "Tipping the Velvet," which so far is a loin-stirring lesbian novel. I also bought a little journal for jotting down blog ideas.
When we returned for the last 15 minutes of Byron Katie's presentation, the participants had that perma-grin glaze on their faces and seemed enthralled by her message.
We tried not to sour the grand finale with our mutual skepticism, but we did ask a few devotees how it was, "nothing that happens in life is not okay," and they were only too eager to answer. The phrase "convoluted gibberish" comes to mind with regard to their answers, but hey, who are we to judge?
On the trip home after a lovely dinner with my Mom, I posed the question to Brad, "Explain to me how pedophilia in the Catholic church is okay, since Byron Katie said nothing that happens in life is not okay."
He tried his damnedest to answer, but he may be too new in "The Work" to formulate a response that didn't sound like nonsense.
I took est in the 70's and I came away with a few lessons I still use today. The est training was that thing where they yell in your face and won't let you go to the bathroom for 10 or 12 hours at a time.
I don't want to condemn The Work of Byron Katie without having experienced it fully, but it did sound like some real horseshit from what I heard. Still, some gurus work for some and some don't.
Regardless, everything that happens in life is NOT okay, and that's all there is to it.
And I think her name was originally Katie Byron, and she changed it to seem cooler.
Anna and I called her Smalley Stuart, anyway.

Saturday, April 13, 2002


My lawn is overgrown and looks like green sheep waiting to be shorn, so of course I am leaving town today to go see my mom in Austin. She's 89, and at that stage where she's either very with it or very out of it. You just never know.
I called her last night and she was feeling a little ornery. It seems my sister who cares for her had the nerve to be at work all day and evidentally had some plans afterwards.
Mom is spoiled and she pouts when her expectations are not met. Hmm, must be where I get it from.
I redirected her attention to the Spurs game, which was on as we talked. For some reason, the old gal likes NBA basketball and sort of understands that the team with the higher score wins.
Mom is hot for Michael Jordan. It's really quite amusing to see her little eyes glaze over when MJ is on TV. He and Montel Williams fascinate her for some reason.
Anyway, I'll leave the house to my kitties today.
James is at that big toddler stage, like a 4 year old. He's huge and still kind of kitten dumb, but he does understand the words NO and JAMES.
He's grown up to be totally strange. He has about 40 facial expressions and he backtalks a lot. He loves to tear up paper and throw his toys all over the house.
Bart, the older kitty, is no trouble. He sleeps and eats and wrestles with James and that's his day.
Now that James is almost Bart's size, their wrestling matches are getting louder and scarier, but friends assure me no blood will be shed.


I haven't mentioned my reconciliation with Zed, so in case anyone is curious, it's been wonderful. A seamless return to joy. Okay, there were a few seams at first, but they've been neatly darned.
I love her, she loves me and we both know it.
I am very happy she's back.
I feel like Bobby Ewing coming out of the shower in "Dallas."
Oh, and Southwestern Bell sent us flowers.

Friday, April 12, 2002

My Latest Gig

What I do for a living is write, mostly corporate bullshit like annual reports, newsletters, stockholder news and brochures. I also do a little design and illustration, since that's what I used to do for 15 years. And I write features for magazines and newspapers. And I edit, and I do public relations planning. Words, words, words.
What I do on the side is faux finishing walls. Like giant abstract paintings, they are fun and all instinct, no thinking allowed.
My lawyer called me the other night, telling me she's building a new house and asking if I'd do her master bedroom. She and her partner Christa, also a lawyer, are not building a new house, they are building a mansion. I discovered that today.
It's a gorgeous Mediterranean palace with an elevator and an upstairs patio with an outdoor fireplace. The ceilings are at least 14 feet. All the floors are either marble, travertine (looks like agate) or hardwood. It's a spectacular place.
Looks like I am in for dirty nails, a backache and tons of money in the coming weeks.
I am sort of excited and sort of dreading the physical work, but the idea of having these huge walls blank and ready for me to coax to life with color and texture makes me feel like Michelangelo, only with far less talent and two lawyers watching me work instead of one Pope Julius.
We still have to look through tons of color swatches and finishing techniques, so it'll be a while before paint touches the walls, but this will make for an interesting spring project.
I am sure painting blogs will be even worse than haircut blogs, but I'll try to keep them bright, so to speak.
More no-comment haiku

No comments lately
I sigh and feel cast adrift
Here we go again

A contest won't work
Entrants know all they will win
Is some dumb haiku

My love won't reblog
She says it's too hard to do
Slow PC, she claims

I'd get reblogs, yes
If only everyone was
Compulsive as me

Let's face the facts, friends
I am no Jill Matrix here
I need the comments

Thursday, April 11, 2002


Man I was glad to see Rob voted off the island last night.
He was the hunky little construction worker from Boston who got more paranoid and ballsier every show.
He thought he was smarter than anyone and quite the strategist, but he ended up lying and double dealing and bullshitting, and then had the gall to confront others about their shaky alliances to him. Poor Sean, the angry young black man, he was Rob's only ally and he's gonna pay for that soon I bet.
I am hoping Kathy wins, she's probably the most legit player, albeit a little pushy.

The Middle East!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, America is pro Israel, so what?
Like Palestine has been so good to us over the years. Like Arafat has been such a little angel of mercy all these years and never, ever had anything to do with any harm coming to Americans. Bullshit!
The thing is, Israel IS overdoing it right now, but I think they just got fed up with these kamikaze suicide bombers invading their neighborhoods and decided to show Palestine they could kick their asses and capture Arafat so they would get the message.
Now Dubya is having to mollify both sides so the rest of the Middle East doesn't turn on us (like they haven't already).
The thing is, Arafat's a bastard, Sharron's a bastard and both ought to step down in favor of two more moderate leaders. Fat chance.
I think we ought to go into Iraq, kill Saddam and his groupies, bomb all of his "secret" nuclear facilities and labs, then let the dust settle and see if there are any questions.
Then we need to get some straight answers out of Saudi Arabia, our "allies" who produced the bulk of the 9/11 terrorists. Allies let their allies use their land for military purposes when world peace is threatened.
Yeah, I know, we need their oil. They need our protection from Iraq, Iran and God knows what other maniacs, so there is some room to negotiate. But the Saudis ought to be compelled to stop sitting on the fence and either support the U.S. and its allies fully or face the consequences.
The entire region is a horrid powder keg, about to blow. We are already up to our eyebrows in it, so we can either lead, follow or get out, and Dubya's buddies are making too much money on the war for the latter to be an option.
It Never Fails

I had lunch at a Chinese buffet today. Seems I ate dinner there Monday and it was so good, a friend and I returned there for lunch today.
I hate buffets, especially ones with great food.
I think they breed gluttony, and I hardly need much reason to go overboard.
So I loaded my plate with a medium size pile of food and sat down.
And here comes the 'it never fails' part.
Right in my line of vision comes the largest woman in San Antonio, who sits down with her three heaping plates of food (I am not kidding).
She was not fat, she was beyond fat. Looked to be around 450-475 lbs.
Now I am no stringbean, so I am not making fun of her, it's just that I felt guilty enough being at a buffet with a full plate, and having to watch her eat a dozen crabmeat rangoons, 40 teriyaki chicken sticks, 10 eggrolls, a mixing bowl of fried rice, three pounds of sesame beef, three pounds of beef with broccoli and a six inch pile of lemon chicken was just too much.
It ruined my second trip to the buffet line. I returned with just one teriyaki chicken stick, a little spoon of white rice and 6 thin green beans.
By then she was eating dessert: three pieces of cheesecake and two eclairs. Oh, and some watermelon and a little blue Jello.
I was feeling sorry for her by then, wondering what made her want to eat that much food at one time.
I visited the ladies room after I finished eating, and as I came out of the stall I heard a woman slapping a toddler and hissing for the kid, "not to act that way."
It was the large lady with a horrible scowl on her face, tugging at her terrified little child.
I looked at her and before I knew it, I heard myself gulp and say, "Yipes." She looked like she was ready to slap me next, so I left in a hurry. Usually I say something when I see a parent smacking a kid. Not this time.
It'll be a while before I return to a buffet restaurant.
I just can't take the guilt, and my jeans can't take the added pressure.
New Links!

As you may have noticed, my blog guru Grey Bird has added new links to some of the blogs I read. Thanks go out to her for her patience and generosity of time. Handmade truffles to follow.
BarCodeKing is my first man-blog link. He's funny and, like me, could blow a fuse at any moment.
Chapeaubien is just a damn good writer, when she writes. I think she may be a duchess or something.
Look into My...Raven is an amusingly angry young woman who makes no attempt at sugar coating her life's foibles and adventures.
Techfluid asks pointed questions like, why do spicy foods go in and come out still spicy? She's also amusingly bitchy.
Also returning is Time For your Meds, Tracy's much lauded journal of modern psychiatry from an insane nurse's standpoint. No, really.
Anyway, I am glad to introduce these blogs to my four readers, and hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Wednesday, April 10, 2002

Oh My God!

I never watch the Jerry Springer Show, okay, make that I rarely watch the Jerry Springer Show, but today the TV happened to be on and his show happened to come on and there's this fetishist guy who likes to cover his very large girlfriend with food and wallow around on top of her.
Zed mentioned root beer today and I started craving it really bad, but after watching a little of this crap on TV, I think I will go on a fast for a few days.
Now they have a whole family of in-breeders on Springer standing around a dinner table and some chick just announced her boyfriend is her Uncle Dave, so they all started throwing food at each other. They are so mutant, one woman threw a pie at another woman only two feet away from her and missed. It looked rehearsed and they all looked too dumb to realize what they were doing.
Then another guy was eating butter, Spam, peanut butter, mayo and creamed corn off his new girlfriend on tape to show his old girlfriend what she was missing.
Then they showed three stinky, enormous guys who put three trailers together in a triangle and all they do is eat all day. No bathing, no work, just eating all day.
I think people go on this show because they have never ridden in an airplane or stayed in a hotel, and for that they will say or do anything.
I blame this on Ronald Reagan.
He's the one who let educational standards slide in the U.S.
When he cut student loans and grants, discontinued Project Headstart and called ketchup and pickles vegetables, he was lighting the fuse on the decline of the American diet and intellect.
Okay, it's a stretch but I don't care, it's my blog and I can say whatever I want.
April 10.

Not only have I not turned the calendar page to April, I have not changed my clocks to daylight savings time. I think I am trying to cling to this fantastic spring weather and avoiding changing my time and date keepers in order to forestall the six months of air conditioning season ahead.
Years ago when daylight savings time was enacted, a radio show did a Man on the Street interview about DST. They approached an elderly Texas farmer as to his take on daylight savings time and he said, "I hate it. That extra hour of sunlight is gonna burn up my crops."
How Did I Miss This?

Late last night on HBO they showed "If these Walls Could Talk," which if you don't already know is a three-part vignette about lesbians, spanning a few decades.
How wonderful this show was, especially Vanessa Redgrave as the elderly widow of a lesbian whose nephew (a near stranger) comes to call after the funeral and tries to negotiate taking away the house the two women shared for decades. A cautionary tale!
Then in the next segment, a cute lesbian falls for a stone butch who wears a tie and rankles her feminist roomates because of all that politically correct bullshit from the 70's. The stone butch was too cute, and I don't even like that type.
Finally, Sharon Stone and Ellen DeGeneris play a loving couple trying to get pregnant. I love Sharon Stone for taking this role and playing it to the hilt. The love scenes were especially nice. The happy pregnancy dance at the end was just wonderful.
I have to salute HBO for it's wonderful programming for and about gay people. They don't hold back and they are worthy of the extra money on the cable bill. So is Showtime, for that matter. Their Tales of the City series was outstanding.
HBO has become a seriously good filmmaking studio and deserves queer support.

Tuesday, April 09, 2002

Slutty Boy Cats

My cats James and Bart are getting on my nerves.
Every time a woman comes over, they charm her, sniff her, walk on her, try to lick her and otherwise flirt with her.
They act like I am a piece of furniture and ignore me entirely when I have company.
They forget the words to, "Here kitty, kitty." They won't take food or treats I offer.
They don't care if my guests smell like the dogs they own, they just care about making an adorable impression on them.
When my company leaves, they fall asleep or otherwise ignore me unless I am on the phone or trying to sleep, then James does his Flying Wallenda routine, leaping 4 feet straight up and landing on my belly. Fourteen pounds is heavier than an average bowling ball.
Okay, this is not that interesting a blog topic, but at least it's not about lesbian romance.
Dear Southwestern Bell:

Fine. Okay, I'll try it but she better not dump me again or she gets a web page with a Canadian flag sticking out of her Photoshop-enlarged ass.

From Southwestern Bell:

Dear Karen,

Please take Zed back. Our projected second quarter earnings will decline and many stockholders will be unhappy if you stick with this ridiculous plan to date within your area code.
So please, the girl made a mistake. Give her a second chance.

Southwestern Bell
Long Distance Services Division

Monday, April 08, 2002

...and go on and on and on in the circle game

I find myself lately consoling my ex from last year, the one who dumped me for her horrible slob of a wanker ex-girlfriend. Seems the wanker has added cheating to her arsenal of obnoxious behaviors, and my ex is slightly to the left of inconsolable.
Yep, I have to admit, I am slightly pleased the wanker turned out to be even worse than I could have dreamed, still it feels kind of good and even a little noble to be able to offer some sincere sympathy to my ex.
Man, what a difference a year makes.
This time last year I was recovering from major surgery and loving the hell out of the ex. Now I am healthy as a horse and the love has turned to friendship, with nary a chance for it to reignite back into love.
Getting dumped has the most dastardly effect on love. At first it seems like the world has ended, then the tears dry and things start to regain their rosy glow.
After being rejected by not one but two provincial Canadian maidens in less than a year, I have learned a few good lessons.
1. Canadians are polite but they dump people.
2. I could have paid for a low-end Lexus with the money I have paid in long distance bills to that Godforsaken, frozen land to the North.
3. About now, the sound of a West Texas drawl would sound mighty good to these ears, sore from all those oats and aboats and those fucking extra u's in every other word.
I am not saying my next woman will be in the same zip code, but the first three digits sure as hell better match and I better only have to dial 7 numbers to call her ass up. So there!

Sunday, April 07, 2002

Whoops, Where Did That Weekend Go?

I think getting out of the house and away from the computer once in a while is a good thing. So I did, Friday, Saturday and all day Sunday.
I am officially done with Internet, long distance romance. Even the best ones seem to go sour eventually, so I give up.
For a change, I want to have dates that don't start at the airport and last 7-14 days.
That's my newest plan. Wish me luck. :)

Friday, April 05, 2002

Mini Celebrity Update

Bryant Gumble
I dunno, I just don't like this guy.

I can't believe they voted that hottie Gina off.

Six Feet Under
Way too depressing last episode.

Las Angeles Lakers
How much do I hate this team?

What's the Rule?

I know there is some lesbian rule about when ex lovers can be friends again, is it after there is one ex between them? Or is it they each have to have an ex between them?
It all gets so confusing. We need a handbook.
Sometimes the only cure for post-romance blues is some Joni Mitchell music, something chocolate or at least some pastry with a nice filling, and maybe a bottle of wine.
That and excess sleep tend to heal the broken heart.
The best part is you can loll around the house looking like shit and all of your friends understand.
Given the right food, music and mind altering liquids and/or solids, even a Pity Party can be a pleasant soiree. I am planning one this evening with a friend who is recently unemployed and also loverless and depressed. I have an apple pie and some drumstick ice cream cones, a bottle of champagne, two bottles of beer and a few other chocolate goodies that should assuage our mutual angst.
Misery can be fun. That's what I am shooting for.
Cute Baby Contest

There is a rigged baby contest online and I am asking for votes for the legitimate contender baby so that the fugazzi (fraud) baby doesn't steal the prize.
The legitimate contender is Meghan, baby number 6. She actually is cute as opposed to the leader baby, who has a huge schnozzola.
Go to http://20ishparents.com/babycontest/a/contest.shtml to vote for baby #6. She is the official Funny Girl Network baby and we want her to be the top baby.
Just vote once per visit or they won't count your vote.
Thank you.
Is this thing working yet?

Thursday, April 04, 2002

Leaving Las Vegas

Well, I am back, and after a two day sleep-a-thon I feel somewhat alert enough to blog.
Vegas was decadent and fun.
They have added so many new hotels and casinos it was mind boggling. Still, nothing beats downtown for luck. I hit a $1000 jackpot at Binion's Horseshoe. That was nice.
My traveling companions were nice too, except I often felt like the kid sister trailing after the big kids, so I went off on my own a lot.
I came home to some sad news.
Given some time to think about us, my Canadian girlfriend Zed found she can't handle a long distance relationship after all. It's always been a bit of an issue for her, but I guess she thought long and hard about it and decided it was a huge issue, then decided to call it quits.
It's a bitch when an issue like distance overwhelms a sweet and nurturing relationship, but these things happen and I suppose this is a good time to chant the serenity prayer and be grateful for what I do have in my life.