Seems like a long time...

I know I rarely miss a Blog day, but I've had some off-line life going on that was catching my attention.
Let's just say when the sodomy law was overturned by the somewhat Supreme Court, I felt a need to celebrate. The cops didn't bust in and arrest us, so I guess the new law has some teeth in it.
Not to get into things too deeply, but suffice it to say la and I had a long talk on Thursday and spent some very nice time together since then. Being jittery about dumping and getting dumped again, we agreed to say we are NOT back together, just 'back in communication.'
Sometimes in the face of transition and potential turmoil, the best thing to do is simplify. So, simply put, we love each other and otherwise we don't know shit from Shinola about the rest. One day at a time. That's the ticket.
Meanwhile, as I was maniacally painting my dining room early last week, I found lodged behind a cabinet a large, colored pencil rendition I had nearly finished of a Monet water lily painting.
I finished it over the weekend and realized I had more or less forgotten about the zenlike properties of making art. So I think I am about to have an art spurt.
Last night I tested the limits of my glucose tolerance by making dinner for my sister Jan and me. I made a nice salad with field greens, tomatoes, fresh herbs, balsamic vinaigrette and tamari almonds, then I made fusilli with chicken, caramelized red onions, fresh rosemary and gorgonzola. We also had several hunks of a baguette, dredged in olive oil with cracked black pepper. And we split a bottle of superb Malbec from Argentina.
I was fretting about my glucose numbers this morning, but I was relieved to find a respectable 113. A count of 124 or higher is considered active diabetic, so I skated by another little test of intake vs. output.
The 4th of July holiday weekend promises to be a lot of fun. While la plans to spend her holiday at the coast with three talkative girlfriends and a Border collie in an RV, I plan to hang out some with Katie, the woman who gave me James the kitten. She's coming in from San Diego to escape the cool ocean breezes and abundant flora. Go figure.
Meanwhile, Katharine Hepburn died. I loved her.
Jodie Foster better toughen up and start to emulate her, because she's about the closest thing we have left to the old legend. Jodie could start by coming out of the closet. Not that Hepburn was a lesbian, but she had tendencies.
Anyway, farewell to Ms. Hepburn. I'm going to miss knowing she's around.

Hi

Sorry to be Blog-dormant these past few days.
All is well. Be back soon. :D

A Twofer!

Not only did mega-rightwing Republican Strom Thurmond die yesterday at age 100, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a Texas sodomy law which is essence made it a crime for two consenting gay adults to have sex in the privacy of their home.
Justice Antonin Scalia wrote a blistering dissent on the 6-3 opinion.
I guess he thinks it's okay for the cops to bust in on a private residence over a trumped up allegation of gunfire being heard and arrest and imprison a couple for making love.
Sodomy is not just anal sex. It's everything BUT standard, heterosexual intercourse.
If you are a straight man who enjoys giving and receiving oral sex, Antonin Scalia thinks you are a criminal.
If you are a lesbian who penetrates your lover with your fingers or sex toys, Scalia thinks you deserve to be arrested, jailed and fined.
If you are a straight woman who has blown your man or even gotten near his anus, Scalia thinks you too are a depraved Sodomite.
Fortunately, six of our Supreme Court justices saw things differently.
And as for Strom Thurmond, rest in peace, Bubba.
I know it'll be hot where you're going, but hey, you're Southern, you'll get used to it.

Silver Stars Again

Today our semi popular WNBA team the Sauna Antonio Silver Stars have a home game at noon. How convenient for all the season ticket holding gym teachers who are off for the summer!
Anyway, I can't resist those plushy 6th row seats, so I am going.
We are playing the arrogant Los Angeles Sparks, and I'll actually be close enough to heckle the loathsome Lisa Leslie.
Being primarily a Spurs fan- who incidentally are the reigning world champions- I am accustomed to rooting for the overdogs. That will not be the case today.
I just hope our 7'2" center Margo Dykedick remembers to put her arms in the air on defense and aim for the hoop on offense. Her stats are not entirely bad, she does lead the team in foul percentages. Collecting them, I mean.
Guard Jennifer Azzi is pretty good, I guess. She's got some incredible arms to look at, at any rate. Her stats aren't so hot, but she certainly is.
The Sparks are on a 9-game winning streak and lead the West in standings.
I think this game might require some beer. Lots of beer.

How Much Would You Take?

Anna and another pal and I were sitting around my living room the other night and playing a game we like called "How Much Would You Take?"
We then describe horrid scenarios for each other and the victim says how much money it would take for her to do it.
After a few rounds, I asked Anna how much it would take for her to lay her head on her mother's lap while her mom stroked her hair. I think she said $10,000.
Then she asked me what it would cost for me (get this) to lie on my back in bed, wearing only a bra and panties, while my father rubbed Vicks Vaporub on my chest.
The game ended there.
I am still cringing.
Lemme ask some regular commenters:
Spacemonk, how much would you take to eat a rare porterhouse steak?
Barcode, how much would you take to go down on Hillary Clinton?
JadedJu and Shelley, how much would it take for you two to do a commercial together endorsing pickled pigs' feet?
Greybird, how much for you to post a streaming video of you and Mel going at it?
Nashvillian, how much for you to do Barbara Bush... Greek doggie style?
Melly, how much for you to wear only my clothes and shoes for a year?
Chari, how much for me to have just one naughty sleepover date with the Princess?
Tracy, how much would it take for you to appear on Anna Nicole's show as her blind date and go with her to a dildo party?
Wken, how much for you to join a celibate monastery for a year where cameras follow you 24/7 to make sure you don't even touch it?
See? It pays to comment here.

Who Let the Dogs In?

After a long hot day, a friend of mine dropped by last night for a visit.
It was one of those nights when hot food sounded sickening, so we just had fresh tomatoes and basil with some diced Oaxaca cheese and balsamic vinegar thrown in.
We were both too lethargic to do anything else, so staring at the TV seemed the path of least resistance.
Has anyone seen "Dog Eat Dog"? It's embarrassingly imbecilic, therefore I loved it.
It features contestants who are short on brains and long on hard bodies. They have to swim really well, otherwise they may as well be doorstops.
It was followed by a reality show where 10 comedians live together in a Hollywood mansion, each trying to be the last one remaining.
Last night they booted this weird guy from Austin who was funny on stage but a complete dick to everyone when he was in the house. His personality was so split, he reminded me of Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Heckle.
It's no Survivor, but it may have to do until the next Survivor series begins.

Baby Love

My friends Cynthia and Ruben are preparing for the birth of their adopted baby Caleb.
He's due out in a week or so. Time to go shopping!

Harry Potter Book 5

I am 200 pages into this 820-page mammoth of a book and it sure doesn't seem like a children's book to me.
This one is far darker and has lots more characters. Harry, Ron and Hermoine have gone from being cute little kids to quirky puberty people.
That was to be expected, but J.K. Rowling has done an especially good job with the age transitions.
No, I don't know who died yet and I am praying some overachiever on the Internet doesn't blab the secret before I can read it for myself.
Just before I received the HP5 book, I had cracked open "Caramelo," by Sandra Cisneros.
She's a local loca with a purple house.
Seems she bought a house in the King William district, which is a staid and historical old neighborhood, and she promptly painted her house purple with turquoise trim.
The old school establishment residents (read: old fat white guys) objected, saying the colors were not in keeping with historical traditions.
Well, Sandra told them that back when those rules were established, Mexican Americans were not allowed to move into that 'hood and pick their own colors.
So, everyone who supported her in the neighborhood started tying purple ribbons around their trees, causing a commotion that finally allowed her to keep her purple house.
I've seen her house many times and it's really nicely done.
Anyway, she's a hell of a writer whose books make you want to go out afterwards and drink tequila shooters and maybe get a tattoo of the Virjen de Guadalupe.

On Spiritual Evolution

You know, as one gets older, one starts to seek a firmer spiritual foundation where serenity and a closer relationship with God becomes far more paramount to a fulfilled and happy existence.
My own quest for spiritual growth has been coming along pretty well, except for a few minor bumps in the road.
I pray for relief from those vexations to my spirit:

Dear God,
Please smite my stupid big sister and make her shut up and stop being so fucking bossy. (Sorry about the "fucking" part, God, I am still a student here).
Also God, if you would, please stop interrupting my really good sex life with my partners' emotional issues. I don't want issues, God, I just want more of those big fat orgasms that cause me to Praise Your Name out loud.
And if you will, God, could you please find a way to make Healthy Choice sugar-free ice cream in a way that doesn't cause such disgustingly loud flatulence and the noxious fumes that accompany it? Same with soy beans, God, could you zap some of the gas out of those, too?
Also, as I sit outside to contemplate all the Glory You Created, could you please lower the humidity and temperature a tad, and kill off all those fucking mosquitoes?
Another thing, God, could you please call on your angels to avenge the devil called Mailer Daemon who filleth my e-mail box with vermin and evil? He also goes by the name of Spam and offers filthy temptations like penis enlargement and Viagra by mail. He must be stopped, his evil empire is growing.
Another small item, if You will. There's a person here on Earth called George W. Bush who leadeth us toward the rings of Hell. He makes war in Your name, he spends our money on evil things and he seems to be just the kind of wolf in sheep's clothing You warned us about in that Book of yours. Could you just smite him around a little?

Thank You for all Your heavenly blessings (besides these small detours to my spiritual awakening),

Karen

Scandalizing the Rich White Folks

My best friend Anna lives in the ritzy part of town, with the kind of neighbors who are named Biff and Bitsy, leftover from their ivy league fraternity and sorority days.
It's not uncommon to see streets in that neighborhood cordoned off with Secret Service agents stationed all over the place so Dubya can visit his rich contributor pals unmolested by the common folks.
So one evening, Anna and her husband Brad are lounging in the backyard by their pool, listening to some easy, breezy Parisian lounge music at a fairly loud volume, courtesy of their all-weather BOSE external speakers.
Suddenly the mostly jazzy, non-lyrical music segues into a sort of rap song.
The lyrics went something like this:
"Hey muthafucka bring some dope to my house then I'll fuck you in the ass then we smoke some muthafuckin crack..."
Anna and Brad looked at each other in shock, worrying what the neighbors might think.
Then they just settled back in and let the music play.

A Voice From the Past

Last night I got a telephone call from a woman I knew in Los Angeles when I lived there 25 years ago.
I met her at a party in Long Beach when we were mere pups. She was cute, I was cute and our eyes met across the proverbial crowded room.
Alas, she was towing an anchor in the form of a spinsterly Alice B. Toklas lookalike. That was her lover, Virginia. Little did I know then Virginia was a notorious woman chaser, else I would have happily corrupted Stephanie's moral principles.
We tried making out once on the Fourth of July, but it was hampered by Virginia being down the street and liable to pop in at any minute. Coitus spinsterruptus.
Now a Vermont resident, Stephanie hunted me down via Google and found me nestled in the warm confines of Sauna Antonio.
Her partner Ellen has published more books than I have articles. Stephanie always did go for those brainy girls.
Anyway, a rekindled friendship with someone living in New England makes me very happy.

Speaking of Google, I looked up my name and found a few minor references. Then I looked up my Blog name and found hundreds of Karen Zipdrive mentions. Perhaps I should sort out my priorities.

Sunday with a Caved-in Head

I went to the kiddy party yesterday afternoon. I saw la and we had a wonderful talk.
It was great to see her and she looked sensational. She liked my highlights.
I wonder if I'll ever be able to stop loving that woman?
The party was huge and Andrei was really popular. That was a great relief. I saw la's little boy and he hugged and kissed me hello and good-bye. God, I miss that little weasel.
On to party number two.
Oy vey.
It was not a reporter kind of party at all. It was more a mom, pop and kids party. I took Melly. We stayed approximately 12 minutes then fled.
We escaped to a wine bar and ended up meeting these two sweet gay guys, one of whom was a mergers and acquisitions man and (gasp) a Log Cabin Republican.
There is not enough wine to wear down a politically insane person. God knows I tried.
He and I did agree to split a very pricey bottle of Argentinean Malbec. The wine was excellent, even with the political gibberish that accompanied it.
On the getaway drive from the bad, bad party, Melly got all het up at me for inadvertently driving us into a closed military base, festooned with armed guards. Apparently the Bat-Turn ewey I did caused her some concern. Wimp!
One day she'll realize that Crone Power makes us old bats bulletproof and invisible.
Nobody expects a 50-year-old broad with glasses to do anything untoward. Even with brand new highlights in her hair.

Woe is Me

I think I had too much watermelon last night. I awakened with a panda belly and a moon face, which can only mean one thing. I have to sweat it off before the kiddie party this afternoon and the adult party tonight.
That means a hard bike ride before it gets past 120 degrees outside.
I think my bike has a leaky back tire. It went flat on me as I was riding yesterday and I had to put air in it. Now I'll have to get it properly fixed.
That means removing about 40 gear things from the back wheel in order to extricate the tire and get some goons down at the tire shop to fix it. They will say they don't do bike tires. I will have to charm them. Maybe my panda belly will excite them.
I am inexplicably depressed this morning. Fortunately, I do not have the luxury of hunkering down in bed and reading all day to escape.
I think I slept poorly. James, my 40-pound puma, decided to sleep where my feet should have been all night, so I had to sleep in a fetal position to accommodate his Virginia ham sized ass. I was too sleepy to kick him off. He's still in bed, right in the middle of it now.
Well. I can see that Blogging is only going to solidify this panda belly, so I must get out now and move things around.
Ugh.

An Innocent Outing

This morning I went to the hospital to get some blood drawn and see the podiatrist for my biannual hoof and mouth examination.
Afterwards I went shopping and found absolutely nothing. Not even shoes.
So I am driving home and feeling drab and remembering I always do something to my hair during transition times.
So I'm thinking highlights but my hair person is always booked in advance, so I decide to go to the rather low tech salon near my house, whose proprietress Christie Lee is a fiery transgender/activist of national notoriety.
Her shop was closed, but I said I didn't care if it was a mess or whatever so she let me in.
So we get to chatting and we start that bull dyke-this and transgender-that kind of gay banter. She's a little rough around the edges but funny, so we are having a good time.
Okay, so she's a woman who was born a male and she has a husband who is a man and she's sort of like a womanly man or a mannish kind of woman.
We aren't quite done talking by the time my hair gets finished, so I go home to get my copy of 'Transister Radio' for her to read.
I went back to her salon and we proceeded to share a certain herbal item, at which point she starts talking nonstop, telling me her sordid but highly entertaining story.
Turns out she's got entertainment lawyers, publishers and movie producers all over her for rights to her story.
So there I am with newly highlighted hair, a transsexual and her assistant Daisy who sat off to the side and listened to us shmooze.
Daisy is a trannie about 6'2" in her 40's who was wearing hot pink satin lounging pajamas and strappy mules. She had a little blonde hairdo, sort of like June Allison.
After a few hours, I realized I'd whiled away a good chunk of the afternoon in a strange transsexual's salon, talking with her about marketing and PR for her book.
If she makes a fortune off her story, I'm going to invoice her for $10,000.
For media consultation and strategic planning. Less the cost of the highlights.

Random Blather

• I had imagined I'd step away from my Blog for a few days so I could isolate and wallow in self pity. To hell with that idea. She and I did the best we could with what we had and it failed. Sad stuff happens to all of us. We deal with it and try to move on, even with lead feet and bloodshot eyes.
• John Dean, who was Nixon's advisor during the Watergate era, wrote a brilliant piece on the Bush WMD lies. Mike at Spacemonk
has a link to the piece on his site. Dean is hardly a left-wing lugnut, so even the Barcodian types might learn a little by reading it. Nice link, Mike.
• My best friend Anna's little boy Andrei is turning 7. She's throwing a big pool party for him this Saturday. The poor little guy's rough beginnings in Romania have left him slightly behind the other kids in learning and social skills, so I am hoping his party will be the hit of the season. We shopped for some kick-ass goody bag stuff the other day, Anna's hired a balloon lady, and I am thinking of doing caricatures of the little party animals so they have a physical reminder of the party afterwards. I want him to be popular, damn it. I don't mean popular like the Fonz, just popular like Richie Cunningham would do.
• Straight guys, I need an opinion. I bought my straight friend Tommy the Johnny Cash Greatest Hits CD for his birthday. Is that too macho? I figured every guy needed to have on hand the song, "Ring of Fire" once in a while. Besides, it's Johnny's 70th birthday this year and I am not sure he'll last much longer with June Carter Cash so recently departed.
• I bought the new Annie Lennox CD "Bare" the other day. I listened to it in my car yesterday when I was driving to and from Austin to attend my old Mom's 3-month progress meeting at the retirement home.
Annie will be turning 49 on Christmas Day this year. Her new CD reflects a lot of serenity mixed with anguish and stoicism I can relate to at my age. Of course, many of her songs reminded me of my recent love affair, but then lately I've been relating everything from San Pelligrino water to my front porch chairs to that.
Anyway, the new CD is worth owning. The cover art, however, is off-putting. Nobody looks good with her face covered in flour.
• My sister the lawyer has *sort of* invited me to Houston for Gay Pride at the end of the month. Some power queen she knows has arranged luxury hotel accommodations for the cost of taxes, and my friend Bettie will be the Grand Marshall of the Pride Parade.
That was to be the weekend la and I went to Fort Worth to see our political dissident friend in prison. I have some friends in Houston and I should go...but I don't know if I can handle all the crowds and insanity. Not to mention those all happy and coupled up.

Mailer Daemon Demon

Every once in a while I get a MAILER DAEMON notice saying an e-mail address I used couldn't accept whatever it was I was trying to e-mail.
Lately I've been getting about 150 a day, from isps I don't recognize, regarding mail I did not try to send.
Anyone heard of this? Is it a virus or a worm or something?
I have an iMac, I thought Mac users were immune to this kind of thing.
It's frustrating.

On Being an Asshole

Day before yesterday I was shell-shocked because I got dumped.
Instead of sitting with the emotions and working through the anger and hurt privately, I Blogged.
Instead of Blogging about the incredible loss and the pain I felt in losing a good woman, I sniped. Now I feel like an ass because of it.
Truth is, as much as we loved each other, la was going through a myriad of personal anguish. Her 13-year marriage had failed, she was concerned about her kids' emotional reaction to the change, her ex husband had moved 200 miles away, and she simply had too much on her plate to be fully engaged in a new relationship- even if it was a happy one.
Anyway, I am a grown woman who should have kept my initial "hell hath no fury like a scorned woman" bullshit to myself. I have also learned a lesson about how futile it is to use bravado and humor to cover the pain and sadness of loss.
Truth be told, la is a good, decent, honorable woman who tried her best to juggle all that was on her plate in addition to a high maintenance girlfriend. Something had to give and that something was our relationship.
If I could publicly humiliate her then, I am woman enough to publicly apologize now.
I am sorry. I was wrong.

Tuesday: Choose Day

I slept late and awakened with a body that felt like lead and a head that felt much lighter.
Not to go all spiritual and new ageish on y'all, but last night I just turned this whole breakup mess over to God and prayed for a release from the emotional pain I was feeling.
It apparently worked.
The resentment and anger is gone. We had a very tender love affair, but it didn't last for reasons beyond my control or comprehension. Bad, bad timing. Nothing I can do about it.
Time to move on.
There's a party this weekend I'm going to attend.
My pal/colleague Tommy is turning 40. He's a photojournalist married to a journalist called Tina, one of those women everyone loves. They went through a really bad patch while Tommy sorted out a mid-life crisis. Now they are back together and happy again.
Today is my friend Katie's birthday. She's the woman who brought me my kitten James from San Diego in 2001 when he was just a little three pound ball of fuzz.
Now he's a huge, puma-sized cat but he still retains the gentle kitten manners Katie taught him as an infant.
Happy birthday, my friend.

Remedies for Ruined Romance

I have it made.
My best friend Anna ran interference this afternoon, and in a few hours was able to sever the last material ties that bound me to my newly former girlfriend.
I have my stuff back and her stuff is in Anna's custody, waiting to be handed over to its rightful owner.
Another friend dropped in later and delivered to my door a little packet of Valium.
I am not a regular user of tranquilizers, but this was the perfect time for some. A friend from San Diego arranged this special delivery, so it was a national effort.
I had two perfect chicken chalupas for dinner with Anna, which is the South Texas equivalent of matzo ball soup for a headcold. Soon I will have some sweet, ripe, cold watermelon balls. Both have mysterious healing qualities.
Meanwhile, my Nets fan friend Mary Delli Santi dutifully paid off her NBA bet and I received a $20 Amazon gift certificate. I bought Hillary Clinton's new book with the winnings, so I was able to get something I wanted and piss off Barcodie in one fell swoop.
I have had several soothing phone calls from here and all over the country.
I believe I have managed to shave off the biggest splinters lodged in my broken heart.
I no longer want to call her and tell her what for.
I no longer want her to be swallowed up in deep waves of regret.
I think most of the hard dwelling has been tranquilized, fed, exhausted and otherwise quelled. I want her to go in peace, find what she's looking for and include me out of her future plans.
I did a tarot reading earlier today.
Under 'significant other,' it said, "The Two of Coins in this position indicates that your significant other may be thinking in an all-or-nothing manner right now, seeing things in terms of extremes. When the mind is set up to view the world as consisting of opposing, mutually exclusive contrasts, there is not a lot of room for creative flexibility."
Well, that's sort of her problem now, I think.
My job is to absorb the shock, accept the change, learn from the situation and move on.
God, grant me the serenity to yadda, yadda, yadda.
And thank God for Anna, Valium, chalupas, watermelon and spell check.

It's Fucking Monday, All Right
(Get Ready for a Rant!)

Remember when my g/f and I went to the coast last April for my birthday and she ended up dumping me?
Well, it must have been the sea, sun and sand, but after a rather chilly return from our latest coast trip, she's dumped me again.
Oh, she said she still loves me, but she "just can't do a relationship right now."
Same shit, second verse.
She sounded like George on 'Seinfeld' with the, "it's not you, it's me" routine. And I fell for it a second time!!!
Well, this ain't baseball and there is no three strikes rule.
I'm done with this come here/get away bullshit.
She expected one last dramatic meeting, where I'd come around to collect the TV, books and other odds and ends I loaned her and bid her a tearful farewell.
I almost fell for it.
She may crave the drama of another bittersweet good-bye, but she already got one of those the first time she dumped me.
Enter my best friend Anna, who's going to her house today to get my stuff back for me.
She wants out? She's free, and now so am I.
I'm just gonna coat myself in honey and let the hungry lesbians feed on me.
Please check all baggage at the door.

The Spurs Won!

Last night the Spurs finally shut down the New Jersey Nets and won the NBA title.
Phil Jackson, bad sport and coach of the Lakers, can shove that 1999 asterisk up his suspiciously high posterior.
My pal Melly and I watched the game at my house. She brought over the most amazing, huge bowl of fruit that looked like it was styled for a photo shoot.
After the game, the freeways were gridlocked with traffic going downtown to celebrate. No riots or burning police cars to speak of, but it was pretty noisy out there.
So now what?
Survivor and Six Feet Under are on hiatus and the basketball season is over, unless you count the WNBA, which I don't.
I guess that leaves hot weather and my cats to talk about.
Meanwhile, I bought a new weightlifting book that's been pretty daunting so far. I plan to ease into it as soon as I can. It'll require some note taking and chart making, both of which are tedious chores.
Weightlifting, as it turns out, is more than developing biceps. Seems they want you to do both the top and bottom muscles on alternating days. That in itself sounds like a case for buying bucket-sized bottles of ibuprofen and an ice machine.
Oh well. May as well get into it. It's not like I have any special TV shows to look forward to this summer.

A Bad Omen?

My friend Cris bought a Martha Stewart outdoor patio furniture set with a shatter resistant glass tabletop from K-Mart. K-Mart was having a going out of business sale and Cris loves Martha Stewart's design savvy, so she thought she'd really scored on her purchase.
During a thunderstorm last night, the tabletop glass shattered.
The table was on a patio, covered by a roof, so we can rule out lightening.
Cris has no redress for the shattered glass.
K-Mart is gone in San Antonio and Martha is probably too busy picking out prison outfits that will match the putty color of her new cell.
Cris sees this as a bad omen for Martha. I see it as just a stroke of bad luck for Cris.
I think she should fire off a letter to the editor of Martha Stewart Living, since she still has a subscription to the magazine.

In other news, I am all about tonight's NBA game, where the Spurs should finish off the Nets once and for all. I have decided to stay home and watch it with a friend rather than face the celebrating highway crowds after the game.

I Got A Basketball Jones

Poor, poor New Jersey Nets, getting whipped in their own little arena.
I'd like the Nets okay, even with known wife beater Jason Kidd on board, but I just loathe reserve Center Aaron Williams with his dark orange hair and puce colored lips. He just hurts my eyes.
And what about Mutumbo? How the hell old is that guy?
Those Jersey fans are straight from Central Casting. Yo, Vinnie. They make Penny Marshall sound like William Jennings Bryant.
So...game six is Sunday night in San Antonio.
The S.A. fans are insane. Go Spurs Go signs are hanging off every car and home. Downtown buildings are festooned with banners. Infants are wearing little silver and black T-shirts.
Most say this will be the final game in the series, and for veteran David Robinson who'll likely retire with a second championship ring, I am happy.
My dilemma is where and with whom to watch the game on Sunday. Do I choose the loud drinkers' house, the chatty, convivial non drinkers' house or my own place where I can control the environment?
My only certainty is my girlfriend won't be watching the game with me. She considers watching basketball on TV on a par with getting a mammo, a root canal and an IRS audit simultaneously.
Speaking of watching the game on TV, some of the ads that accompany this series are showing a very disturbing trend.
An ad for a movie called, "2 Fast & 2 Furious" shows a bunch of young black guys drag racing on the streets with some macho/nerdy white guys.
I think it's enough that The Man controls the drug, malt liquor and weapons flow into the Black community. I find it distressing that Hollywood is now glorifying crazy mofo drag racing among young Black men. Just one more way to fuck them up.
The best ad is when Dallas Mavs Coach Don Nelson is speaking to his team of international players in several different languages. The last bit, "Hey Nashie, how about hustling it up a bit, eh, ya hoser" is hilarious. After plenty of exposure to Canadian accents over the last three+ years, I really appreciated the subtlety.
So, who besides New Jerseyites, New Yorkers and Texans are watching the NBA finals?
The best thing about them is no Shaq and no Kobe, that couple o' hosers.

Tanned, Rested and Rrrready to Rrrrumble

My trip to the coast was very relaxing and pleasurable.
It rained hard on Tuesday while we were on the beach, but riding back on the bicycle in the chilly wind and rain was exhilarating.
South Texas sand is very fine and gritty, so my skin feels smooth and soft like I got massive dermabrasion. Sunblock saved me from severe burning. I ate so much fresh shrimp I am sick of it (for now). Turns out I used everything I took with me, so my packing was quite apropos.

So, I come home yesterday to more than 70 E-mails.
I deleted the prescription drugs and penis enlargement ads first.
Then I read the dreaded guilt tripping family mail, the shopworn forwarded jokes, and saved the political stuff for dessert.
WOW!
It seems the entire political world is all agog about George Weasel Bush and his henchmen being such fat fucking liars about WMD's in Iraq.
Here are some of the tastier headlines:
• The White House hopes the WMD scandal will go away.
Check out Take on the News -- our new Blog -- to find out why it won't. http://www.tompaine.com/blog.cfm/ID/7995
• HOODWINKED: Americans are beginning to realize they have been duped by a president in whom they once instilled immense trust.

http://www.tompaine.com/feature2.cfm/ID/8035

• FORGED EVIDENCE: A prominent Democratic congressman wants Condoleezza Rice to explain one thing: why Bush used forged evidence to push the Iraq war.

http://www.tompaine.com/feature2.cfm/ID/8069
• PREVARICATING PRESIDENT: Why Democrats need to seize on Bush's WMD lies.

http://www.tompaine.com/feature2.cfm/ID/8065

• Go here to take action and urge Senators Frist and Daschle, the Majority and Minority Leader respectively, to convene a select Senate committee immediately, with sufficient funding and investigative power, to learn the truth about what the Bush Administration really knew about weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.
workingforchange.com/activism/action.cfm?itemid=15146&afccode=WMD001

Hmm, looks to me like the only allies Bush will have come reelection time are his kinfolk, Barcodie, Ken Lay and the Florida Voting Commission.
Meanwhile, American soldiers are still being killed in Iraq and unrest seems as high as ever in the Middle East. What did that war accomplish? Not a fucking thing, unless you are one of the Bush buddies with massive oil investments and/or construction companies getting sweetheart deals to "rebuild Iraq."

In other news, Canada has approved gay marriages. Even queer Americans can marry there, although their legal marital status won't be recognized at home.
Way to go, Canada. For a bunch of hosers, you guys are okay, eh?

The Spurs and the Nets are 2 and 2 in the NBA finals. I watched game four with la's ex-husband at his house at the beach. Hey, what can I say, his TV was better.
Tonight is do or die for the Spurs. I hope the voodoo pins I stuck in Jason Kidd's crotch don't cause him *too much* pain.

The Lesbian Bar(f)

Last night la and I went out to a lesbian bar for a reunion of old dykes I used to drink with in the 80's. My sister talked me into going, saying she, her partner and another fun lesbian from Austin would be attending.
They did not show up.
Anyway, I think the word abysmal best describes our experience.
Besides the cloud of smoke and the herd of dykes gathered around the TV watching the Spurs lose to the Nets, the music was mostly country.
I lost a $20 bill somewhere in the shuffle. Always a bad omen.
Then they had this absurd contest where we wore little ribbons around our neck and lost them if we answered no to anyone's question. Some bitch asked me if my name was David. She got one of my ribbons, but I got it back by asking if I'd ever fucked her before.
We holed out in the billiards room, having a perfectly pleasant time shooting 8-ball, until some troglodyte put some quarters down and challenged the winner to a game. I won and told troggy she and her unsavory companion could have the table.
We wanted to dance but the music was not danceable.
There was nobody there whose phone number I had or whom I'd ever dated.
The manager of Taco Cabana, who gifted Melly and me that pile of coupons last week was there. She was one of the cuter ones, and she is decidedly uncute.
We left after a few miserable hours.
My g/f summed up the whole experience: "That was an unsightly crowd, Karen."
She's a wise woman.

Scattered!

I've been toggling between my house and the g/f's house all week.
She has a pool and a Jacuzzi, I have more groceries, toiletries, HBO and Showtime.
When we are there, we need something from here and vice versa.
After six or seven years of long distance relationships, this is new again for me.
It requires more frequent leg shaving and linen changing.
I can pay my long distance bill from pocket change.
The airlines are calling, saying they miss me.
Still, it's better this way.
We're going dancing tonight.

Martha Stewart's Open Letter

Dear Friends and Fans,
As you may have heard, the judicial system has trumped up some absurd allegations against me in hopes of bringing my style sense to the New York penal system.
What cell wouldn't be cheered by handmade faux chintz curtains hung on non-threatening paper toweling cores?
Who wouldn't be perked up by Ramen noodle cozies made with bits of colorful magazine pages and adhered with prison issue toothpaste?
Still, my direct presence is not needed to demonstrate these fun and easy projects to the inmates.
What I offer instead is a useful video tape with instructions so that each and every inmate may accomplish her own cell sprucing projects. These tapes can be made available at no cost.
For an additional cost of $79.95 per kit, I will include useful decorating materials such as popsicle sticks, double sticky back tape, pinecones, acorns, autumn leaf stencils, duct tape, Super Glue, chewing gum, paper clips, shiny magazine ads, paper toweling and toilet tissue cores, soda straws, orange peels, peppercorns, coffee grounds, crushed egg shells and bubble wrap.
Just think of the possibilities!

Cell redecorating for mere pennies-it's a good thing!

Parlez Vouz Bullshit?

Did anyone catch Dubya in Evian, France glad-handing Jacques Chirak?
With all the to-do the GOP made over the French not backing the invasion of Iraq so Bush could protect the world from rusty old barrels of fertilizer, did the sight of Bush kissing ass in France strike anyone else as disingenuous?
I mean, come on, the GOP wasted time renaming French Fries in the Senate cafeteria, now this?
Does Dubya expect us to like the French now because he forgot how much they allegedly screwed him?
I thought he was petty and overreactive when France and Germany refused to buy his bogus WMD story.
Now he just looks spineless and wishy washy. Like a child, he pouts when he doesn't get his way, but also like a child, he soon forgets and wants to play with his little pals as if nothing ever happened.
The Dixie Chicks were right. He's an embarrassment.

Voir Dire, My Ass

I cannot believe our judicial system is so flawed they have compelled me to appear for jury duty this morning. I am wholly unsuitable for jury duty.
I have far too many opinions.
I rush to judgment.
I am cranky with lamebrains.
I dislike criminal types.
I cannot keep a poker face, and that makes the lawyers edgy.
I need an afternoon nap.
My girlfriend's summer vacation starts today.
I need regularly scheduled snacks.
I know way too many lesbians in the DA's office.
It's too hot.
I don't wanna.

Mad Cow from Toronto

Sunday, Bloggy Sunday

I awakened at 7 a.m. and delayed taking my glucose level because I feared the margaritas, nachos and a fruit plate the size of Carmen Miranda's hat from last night would tell a tale of excess.
Wanting to further stall, I delayed having coffee, too.
No coffee plus being up at 7 a.m. can only lead to one thing: going back to bed.
Now it's noonish, my glucose read a very healthy 105 and all I have to contemplate now is getting back on my bike and facing the kind of heat only Texas can provide.
Last night my pal Melly and I decided to go to Jacala Mexican restaurant for dinner and margaritas.
We got there and the sea of cars in the parking lot intimidated us so much, we high tailed it out of there in search of a less populated spot to eat and drink.
In San Antonio there's a Mexican restaurant every 500 feet or so. Not all serve margaritas though, and Melly
was like Joan Crawford on a road trip with an empty flask.
We settled for Taco Cabana. It's sort of dolled-up fast food place but they do have margaritas. Good ones.
So as we settled in, I spied a woman named Vivian behind the counter. She was a bartender at a lesbian bar I used to frequent in my salad days. She remembered me well and rustled up two $5 margaritas, for which she charged me $3.99. She's the manager there and apparently rank has it's privileges.
Then as I lauded her with compliments about her ascent into management, she actually said to me, "Hey, if you're lookin' to make some serious money, I can get you in here."
I smiled and said I already had a job I liked, then she said she'd come check on us in a little while.
As we started in on round two of our margaritas, Vivian sauntered over with a handful of VIP cards for us VIPs. Each card gives 10, 15, 20 then 25% discounts on subsequent visits. Since I have been there maybe twice in the last 12 years, she gave me enough VIP cards to provide me discounts for the next 50 years.
She gave Melly two cards, since she's just a new VIP by association.
I puffed up and told Melly I had friends in high places. She was duly impressed. Or drunk, it's hard to tell.
Afterwards we had intended to watch the video "Billy Elliot." Instead, a documentary on Anna Nicole Smith caught our eyes and we opted for that. That was followed by HBO's "Punany Poetry," where Black women waxed eloquently about their vaginas.
Taco Cabana, Anna Nicole and Black pussy poetry: another night of culinary and cultural distinction @ Chez Zipdrive.