The Vatican Speaks
With all the hubbub about gay marriage, the Pope donned one of his frilly dresses and issued a global campaign, calling same-sex marriages "gravely immoral."
After issuing his 12 page edict, he called together his favorite alter boys Giacomo and Giuseppe for his afternoon backrub and menage a trois.
Phuhh.
Gravely immoral, my ex Catholic dyke lovin' ass.
Thursday, July 31, 2003
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
Remind Me to Wear a Burqa Next Time
On Tuesday I wore a rather snug lycra tank top to Willie's House of Pain.
He sized me up at the door and said, "Uh huh. Today is abs, triceps and trapezius day."
Now that I know he has that sadistic streak, I plan to wear nothing but loose T-shirts and baggy shorts from now on.
He made me do 40 sit-ups and 60 ab crunches. Then this horrid thing where he put a barbell on the back of my neck and made me squat, much like an ox loaded for market.
I have very strong ham strings and decent quads, but squatting in any way is my least favorite exercise.
By the time I was done I swear I could smell bacon burning.
Now I am too tired and sore to type, so I am done for now.
Squat amongst yourselves.
On Tuesday I wore a rather snug lycra tank top to Willie's House of Pain.
He sized me up at the door and said, "Uh huh. Today is abs, triceps and trapezius day."
Now that I know he has that sadistic streak, I plan to wear nothing but loose T-shirts and baggy shorts from now on.
He made me do 40 sit-ups and 60 ab crunches. Then this horrid thing where he put a barbell on the back of my neck and made me squat, much like an ox loaded for market.
I have very strong ham strings and decent quads, but squatting in any way is my least favorite exercise.
By the time I was done I swear I could smell bacon burning.
Now I am too tired and sore to type, so I am done for now.
Squat amongst yourselves.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Just in Case You Get Tempted
This summer I have observed people frolicking at ice cream stores, eating the sweet, creamy delights to their poor heart's discontent.
Like a needy child, peering through the window at FAO Schwartz, I have felt deprived.
Now I am feeling better.
No longer satisfied with selling mere cones and cups, many ice cream retailers have added some spectacular new concoctions to thrill their clientele.
Alas, some of these add up to fat and calories that exceed a steak dinner with all the trimmings.
Here ya go, courtesy of WebMD Medical News:
• Häagen-Dazs' Mint Chip Dazzler -- With three scoops of mint chip ice cream, hot fudge, Oreos, chocolate sprinkles, and whipped cream, this portable sundae has 1,270 calories and 38 grams of saturated fat.
• Baskin Robbins' vanilla shake (large) -- At 24 ounces, this seemingly benign beverage still has 1,070 calories and 32 saturated fat grams.
• Cold Stone Creamery's Mud Pie Mojo -- A mix of coffee ice cream, roasted almonds, fudge, Oreos, peanut butter, and whipped topping with 1,180 calories and 26 grams of saturated fat.
• Friendly's Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Cyclone (large) -- Vanilla ice cream topped with creamy peanut butter sauce, hot fudge, marshmallows, whipped topping, sprinkles, and Reese's Pieces tipped the scales at 1,470 calories and 28 grams of saturated fat.
• Ben and Jerry's Brownie Special -- A brownie topped with vanilla ice cream, peanuts, hot fudge, and whipped cream has 1,020 calories and 22 grams of saturated fat.
• TCBY's Toffee Coffee Cappuccino Chiller (large) -- A concoction of frozen yogurt, milk, coffee flavoring, and whipped topping that contains 1,200 calories and 30 grams of saturated fat.
My Healthy Choice sugar-free ice creams may have some gassy aftereffects, but I think I'll stick with them all the same.
This summer I have observed people frolicking at ice cream stores, eating the sweet, creamy delights to their poor heart's discontent.
Like a needy child, peering through the window at FAO Schwartz, I have felt deprived.
Now I am feeling better.
No longer satisfied with selling mere cones and cups, many ice cream retailers have added some spectacular new concoctions to thrill their clientele.
Alas, some of these add up to fat and calories that exceed a steak dinner with all the trimmings.
Here ya go, courtesy of WebMD Medical News:
• Häagen-Dazs' Mint Chip Dazzler -- With three scoops of mint chip ice cream, hot fudge, Oreos, chocolate sprinkles, and whipped cream, this portable sundae has 1,270 calories and 38 grams of saturated fat.
• Baskin Robbins' vanilla shake (large) -- At 24 ounces, this seemingly benign beverage still has 1,070 calories and 32 saturated fat grams.
• Cold Stone Creamery's Mud Pie Mojo -- A mix of coffee ice cream, roasted almonds, fudge, Oreos, peanut butter, and whipped topping with 1,180 calories and 26 grams of saturated fat.
• Friendly's Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Cyclone (large) -- Vanilla ice cream topped with creamy peanut butter sauce, hot fudge, marshmallows, whipped topping, sprinkles, and Reese's Pieces tipped the scales at 1,470 calories and 28 grams of saturated fat.
• Ben and Jerry's Brownie Special -- A brownie topped with vanilla ice cream, peanuts, hot fudge, and whipped cream has 1,020 calories and 22 grams of saturated fat.
• TCBY's Toffee Coffee Cappuccino Chiller (large) -- A concoction of frozen yogurt, milk, coffee flavoring, and whipped topping that contains 1,200 calories and 30 grams of saturated fat.
My Healthy Choice sugar-free ice creams may have some gassy aftereffects, but I think I'll stick with them all the same.
The Prisoner of Azkaban
Director Alfonso Cuaron, best known for directing the movie "Y Tu Mama Tambien" (rough translation "yo mama") was interviewed by Newsweek and has some interesting things to say about some of the adult characters:
"Cuarón says he finds parallels between some of the shadier adult characters and real-life contemporary Muggle world leaders. Villain Voldemort reminds the director of George W. Bush, ''in combination with Saddam,'' he tells Newsweek.
''They both have selfish interests and are very much in love with power. Also, a disregard for the environment. A love for manipulating people.
I read books four and five, and [Minister of Magic] Fudge is similar to Tony Blair. He's the ultimate politician. He's in denial about many things. And everything is for the sake of his own persona, his own power. The way the Iraq thing was handled was not unlike the way Fudge handled affairs in book four.''
Ooh. I think I am going to love this movie.
Director Alfonso Cuaron, best known for directing the movie "Y Tu Mama Tambien" (rough translation "yo mama") was interviewed by Newsweek and has some interesting things to say about some of the adult characters:
"Cuarón says he finds parallels between some of the shadier adult characters and real-life contemporary Muggle world leaders. Villain Voldemort reminds the director of George W. Bush, ''in combination with Saddam,'' he tells Newsweek.
''They both have selfish interests and are very much in love with power. Also, a disregard for the environment. A love for manipulating people.
I read books four and five, and [Minister of Magic] Fudge is similar to Tony Blair. He's the ultimate politician. He's in denial about many things. And everything is for the sake of his own persona, his own power. The way the Iraq thing was handled was not unlike the way Fudge handled affairs in book four.''
Ooh. I think I am going to love this movie.
Monday, July 28, 2003
Shocked!
• Seems the wedded bliss of Liza Minelli and David Gest has hit the rocks. They have separated after only 16 months of marriage.
My guess is, David ran out of excuses for not sleeping with her, since HE IS THE GAYEST MAN ON EARTH.
• Bob Hope died at age 100. Poor guy.
• The woman who accused infidel Kobe Bryant of rape was in the hospital four months ago on a suicide watch. I guess his defense team will try to connect depression with wanting to have rough sex with a total stranger while on duty at the front desk of a resort.
I get depressed sometimes, I wonder if I should try to meet Kobe?
Rumors at The Drudge Report (inspired by Barcode's Blog) say the victim's face was pretty banged up and some people in neighboring rooms heard a lot of noise coming from Kobe's room during the 'alleged' rape.
If the prosecutors can show facial injuries and signs of forced sodomy, I think Kobe may have a bit of a problem explaining things.
• Seems the wedded bliss of Liza Minelli and David Gest has hit the rocks. They have separated after only 16 months of marriage.
My guess is, David ran out of excuses for not sleeping with her, since HE IS THE GAYEST MAN ON EARTH.
• Bob Hope died at age 100. Poor guy.
• The woman who accused infidel Kobe Bryant of rape was in the hospital four months ago on a suicide watch. I guess his defense team will try to connect depression with wanting to have rough sex with a total stranger while on duty at the front desk of a resort.
I get depressed sometimes, I wonder if I should try to meet Kobe?
Rumors at The Drudge Report (inspired by Barcode's Blog) say the victim's face was pretty banged up and some people in neighboring rooms heard a lot of noise coming from Kobe's room during the 'alleged' rape.
If the prosecutors can show facial injuries and signs of forced sodomy, I think Kobe may have a bit of a problem explaining things.
Sunday, July 27, 2003
Sunday, Bloggy Sunday
I got nothin' today. My mind is a totally blank canvas.
Okay, I do have a few things...
The Colorado district attorney who looks like Opie from Mayberry is getting death threats from Kobe's thuggish fans.
He needs to wear one of these.
Oh, and former Nixon top aide Jeb Magruder finally came out and said Nixon ordered the Watergate break-in. Gee, what a shocker.
Mick Jagger turned 60. That's depressing.
Lance Armstrong won his 5th Tour de France bike race. I'd say it took some balls to do that, but apparently that's not actually the case. Lance was my hero but he slipped when I found out he was cheating on his wife. He may need to ease off on the testosterone supplements.
Speaking of bike racing, I have no Willie plans today so I'd better get out there and ride off some of this extra flab. Turns out my hamstrings are good but my quads need work. Who knew? Before I met Willie I called my quads "my lap muscles."
That's it for today- talk amongst yourselves.
I got nothin' today. My mind is a totally blank canvas.
Okay, I do have a few things...
The Colorado district attorney who looks like Opie from Mayberry is getting death threats from Kobe's thuggish fans.
He needs to wear one of these.
Oh, and former Nixon top aide Jeb Magruder finally came out and said Nixon ordered the Watergate break-in. Gee, what a shocker.
Mick Jagger turned 60. That's depressing.
Lance Armstrong won his 5th Tour de France bike race. I'd say it took some balls to do that, but apparently that's not actually the case. Lance was my hero but he slipped when I found out he was cheating on his wife. He may need to ease off on the testosterone supplements.
Speaking of bike racing, I have no Willie plans today so I'd better get out there and ride off some of this extra flab. Turns out my hamstrings are good but my quads need work. Who knew? Before I met Willie I called my quads "my lap muscles."
That's it for today- talk amongst yourselves.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
Drugs
What the hell is going on with all these prescription drug ads on TV lately?
They don't even say what they are for, they just have a middle aged person or couple sort of walking through fields of clover, looking vaguely relieved.
I once tried asking my doctor for one of those drugs I saw on TV and she cross examined me as to why I thought I needed that particular drug.
I didn't know what to say, because I certainly didn't want to say because the woman on TV looked pleasantly buzzed.
We all know the major pharmaceutical companies have lobbyists out the ass, and that's why Bush has failed to keep his campaign promises about affordable prescription prices for the elderly. He is their bitch.
If I owned a big pharmaceutical company, I'd get my lobbyist to push the FDA to remove those legally required side effect warnings on the TV ad voice-overs.
I mean, if I was tempted to try a prescription drug, a warning about the potential for anal leakage would be totally off-putting.
I don't care if a drug caused weight loss, elation, thicker, shinier hair and flat abs, if it caused me even a tiny drop of anal leakage, I'd skip it.
What's more, if I was on a date with the smartest, most beautiful woman on earth and she had even a scintilla of a hint of anal leakage, I'd lam it outta there in a heartbeat.
It's the term. It's too descriptive.
Can't they call it something more fun, like squirtybutt?
What the hell is going on with all these prescription drug ads on TV lately?
They don't even say what they are for, they just have a middle aged person or couple sort of walking through fields of clover, looking vaguely relieved.
I once tried asking my doctor for one of those drugs I saw on TV and she cross examined me as to why I thought I needed that particular drug.
I didn't know what to say, because I certainly didn't want to say because the woman on TV looked pleasantly buzzed.
We all know the major pharmaceutical companies have lobbyists out the ass, and that's why Bush has failed to keep his campaign promises about affordable prescription prices for the elderly. He is their bitch.
If I owned a big pharmaceutical company, I'd get my lobbyist to push the FDA to remove those legally required side effect warnings on the TV ad voice-overs.
I mean, if I was tempted to try a prescription drug, a warning about the potential for anal leakage would be totally off-putting.
I don't care if a drug caused weight loss, elation, thicker, shinier hair and flat abs, if it caused me even a tiny drop of anal leakage, I'd skip it.
What's more, if I was on a date with the smartest, most beautiful woman on earth and she had even a scintilla of a hint of anal leakage, I'd lam it outta there in a heartbeat.
It's the term. It's too descriptive.
Can't they call it something more fun, like squirtybutt?
Friday, July 25, 2003
Willie Finds New Places to Hurt Me
Day two at Willie Jett's House of Pain.
Today he made me do all sorts of different new things.
The abs sit-up and crunch bench was the absolute worst. I had to do 30. I nearly cried.
Then he made me lift a barbell that weighed 65 pounds. I had to wear one of those cool belts and he made me lift it 48 times...while I was squatting. Damn, that hurt!
My usually soft hands are getting calloused.
I am afraid to eat anything but protein lest I reverse the fat burning process.
I ache all over, but man, what a buzz I have.
Day two at Willie Jett's House of Pain.
Today he made me do all sorts of different new things.
The abs sit-up and crunch bench was the absolute worst. I had to do 30. I nearly cried.
Then he made me lift a barbell that weighed 65 pounds. I had to wear one of those cool belts and he made me lift it 48 times...while I was squatting. Damn, that hurt!
My usually soft hands are getting calloused.
I am afraid to eat anything but protein lest I reverse the fat burning process.
I ache all over, but man, what a buzz I have.
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Bush Writes Haiku
Deficits are high
But fortunately I don't
know what that word means
Old folks want cheap drugs
I'll not be an enabler
Dad said drugs was bad
We killed them Saddams
Them boys was bad news for sure
Call taxidermist
WMD's
With all this bitching I hear
They act like I lied
When I's elected
Thought I'd get to play more golf
This job is full time!
Slipping in the Polls
I gotta get a new flack
Hello? Barcodeking?
I am so tired
I think I'll call Jenna up
to score me some crank
Deficits are high
But fortunately I don't
know what that word means
Old folks want cheap drugs
I'll not be an enabler
Dad said drugs was bad
We killed them Saddams
Them boys was bad news for sure
Call taxidermist
WMD's
With all this bitching I hear
They act like I lied
When I's elected
Thought I'd get to play more golf
This job is full time!
Slipping in the Polls
I gotta get a new flack
Hello? Barcodeking?
I am so tired
I think I'll call Jenna up
to score me some crank
The Secret Diary of Pu-Say Hussein
(Saddam's *Unusual* Daughter)
Oh, thank Allah, may his image be cast in flattering light that my evil brothers Uday may his mustache rot off his face in a cold, damp grave and Qusai may his penis convert to a vagina in the afterlife have been killed.
Now I am the oldest remaining "son."
Well, perhaps not a son, per se, but a suitable replacement, thanks Allah whose name must be praised to my Internet connection with an evil empire store called Babes in Toyland from which I recently received a lovely silicone phallus called Woody.
I have been quite busy in the Baghdad palace, which is disguised as a Dunkin' Donuts franchise for the safety of myself and my many, many concubines.
Now that all of the men have been killed or are in hiding may Allah be patted on the back for thinning out these goat-scented beasts, the women of my father and brothers' harems may Allah bless their shapely derrieres and firm breasts have turned to me for gratification of their incessant lustful energies.
Allah be praised for strengthening my tongue muscle so that it is powerful enough to sand the rust off a patio table. I have needed the strength may Allah be grinned at.
I plan not to attend the funeral may Allah be thanked for not making me wear a dress and go but I do intend to frame the photos that Donald Rumsfeld is currently making giant posters of for mass distribution at a place in evil America called Walmart.
I have no sorrow may Allah excuse my blasé attitude for my brothers' deaths ever since as a child I found Uday having forced sex with my kitten Falafel and watched Ousay shoot the kitten afterwards.
Now I must pray to Allah.
Oh Heavenly Allah may your robes be sprinkled with gold dust, please allow me to find the car keys to Uday's 100 exotic automobiles so that I might transport my concubines in style. The 1992 Plymouth Neon given me by my father may Allah spit on his khakis simply does not convey my new status as heiress to the Saddam empire.
A yellow Humvee or perhaps a Mercedes S class might better fit the bill.
(Saddam's *Unusual* Daughter)
Oh, thank Allah, may his image be cast in flattering light that my evil brothers Uday may his mustache rot off his face in a cold, damp grave and Qusai may his penis convert to a vagina in the afterlife have been killed.
Now I am the oldest remaining "son."
Well, perhaps not a son, per se, but a suitable replacement, thanks Allah whose name must be praised to my Internet connection with an evil empire store called Babes in Toyland from which I recently received a lovely silicone phallus called Woody.
I have been quite busy in the Baghdad palace, which is disguised as a Dunkin' Donuts franchise for the safety of myself and my many, many concubines.
Now that all of the men have been killed or are in hiding may Allah be patted on the back for thinning out these goat-scented beasts, the women of my father and brothers' harems may Allah bless their shapely derrieres and firm breasts have turned to me for gratification of their incessant lustful energies.
Allah be praised for strengthening my tongue muscle so that it is powerful enough to sand the rust off a patio table. I have needed the strength may Allah be grinned at.
I plan not to attend the funeral may Allah be thanked for not making me wear a dress and go but I do intend to frame the photos that Donald Rumsfeld is currently making giant posters of for mass distribution at a place in evil America called Walmart.
I have no sorrow may Allah excuse my blasé attitude for my brothers' deaths ever since as a child I found Uday having forced sex with my kitten Falafel and watched Ousay shoot the kitten afterwards.
Now I must pray to Allah.
Oh Heavenly Allah may your robes be sprinkled with gold dust, please allow me to find the car keys to Uday's 100 exotic automobiles so that I might transport my concubines in style. The 1992 Plymouth Neon given me by my father may Allah spit on his khakis simply does not convey my new status as heiress to the Saddam empire.
A yellow Humvee or perhaps a Mercedes S class might better fit the bill.
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Willie's House of Pain
I am back from my first personal training session and all I can say is owwwww.
I did ab crunches, butt munches, thigh rippers, knee crushers, more ab crunches, triceps curls, triceps uncurls, triceps schleps and some other things, like Lord Voldemort's name, so wretched I shan't mention them.
His sweatpants had "House of Pain" silk-screened on them. Uh huh.
I have a pain twinge in my right flank. I can't take narcotics because I have to write a mess of articles for my client.
Oh, the humanity!
Owwww!
I am back from my first personal training session and all I can say is owwwww.
I did ab crunches, butt munches, thigh rippers, knee crushers, more ab crunches, triceps curls, triceps uncurls, triceps schleps and some other things, like Lord Voldemort's name, so wretched I shan't mention them.
His sweatpants had "House of Pain" silk-screened on them. Uh huh.
I have a pain twinge in my right flank. I can't take narcotics because I have to write a mess of articles for my client.
Oh, the humanity!
Owwww!
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
Seems the rest of the world is catching up with us "lefties" and recognizing that The Resident is sliding down that slippery slope to a well-earned family tradition of one-term presidencies.
Here are some excerpts from an Associated Press article written by Ron Fornier, entitled, "GOP Frets Over Bush in 2004."
"WASHINGTON (July 22) - For the first time since the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, rank-and-file Republicans say they are worried about President Bush's reelection chances based on the feeble economy, the rising death toll in Iraq and questions about his credibility...
"But the president has seen a drop in other early warning indicators, including the number of people expressing confidence in his credibility and leadership along with his handling of the economy and postwar Iraq...
"Republicans said there will be trouble for Bush if postwar Iraq continues to claim the lives of American troops. Another U.S. solider was killed Tuesday, bringing the total killed in action to 153 - six more than during the 1991 Gulf War...
(Here's my favorite part:)
"A recent CNN-Time poll found that 47 percent view Bush as a leader they can trust, down from 56 percent in March. A thin majority of voters said they harbor doubts about his leadership..."
I guess between skyrocketing budget deficits, rampant unemployment, senior citizens still without affordable prescription medicines, a war that wages on, no weapons of mass destruction found, no Bin Laden and no Saddam located, lying during the state of the union address and blaming it on the CIA director, and his multi million dollar publicity stunt of landing in a jet onto the deck of an aircraft carrier while family members and friends of genuine soldiers had to wait on shore to see their military loved ones, people are starting to see that this guy's all bullshit and no substance.
Like Democratic candidate Howard Dean, I started bitching about this dimwitted clown early.
I'm glad others are waking up and starting to connect the dots. Forty-seven percent in the polls is just plain horrible, and mark my words, in a month or so he'll WISH he still had 47 percent.
Seems the rest of the world is catching up with us "lefties" and recognizing that The Resident is sliding down that slippery slope to a well-earned family tradition of one-term presidencies.
Here are some excerpts from an Associated Press article written by Ron Fornier, entitled, "GOP Frets Over Bush in 2004."
"WASHINGTON (July 22) - For the first time since the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, rank-and-file Republicans say they are worried about President Bush's reelection chances based on the feeble economy, the rising death toll in Iraq and questions about his credibility...
"But the president has seen a drop in other early warning indicators, including the number of people expressing confidence in his credibility and leadership along with his handling of the economy and postwar Iraq...
"Republicans said there will be trouble for Bush if postwar Iraq continues to claim the lives of American troops. Another U.S. solider was killed Tuesday, bringing the total killed in action to 153 - six more than during the 1991 Gulf War...
(Here's my favorite part:)
"A recent CNN-Time poll found that 47 percent view Bush as a leader they can trust, down from 56 percent in March. A thin majority of voters said they harbor doubts about his leadership..."
I guess between skyrocketing budget deficits, rampant unemployment, senior citizens still without affordable prescription medicines, a war that wages on, no weapons of mass destruction found, no Bin Laden and no Saddam located, lying during the state of the union address and blaming it on the CIA director, and his multi million dollar publicity stunt of landing in a jet onto the deck of an aircraft carrier while family members and friends of genuine soldiers had to wait on shore to see their military loved ones, people are starting to see that this guy's all bullshit and no substance.
Like Democratic candidate Howard Dean, I started bitching about this dimwitted clown early.
I'm glad others are waking up and starting to connect the dots. Forty-seven percent in the polls is just plain horrible, and mark my words, in a month or so he'll WISH he still had 47 percent.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Kobe's New Ads
---
(SETTING: Kobe, reclining in a hotel bed, taking a long sip from an icy can of Sprite.)
KOBE: After I have some rough, consensual sex, nothing quenches my thirst like a Sprite.
---
(SETTING: Kobe, lacing up some shiny Nike sneakers, just before he's escorted from his jail cell and led by officers to his trial courtroom)
KOBE: The best thing about Kobe Wipe-Offs from Nike is that sweat, body fluids and DNA wipe right off. So, on the court or in the court, Kobe Wipe-Offs are the shoe for me, and the shoe for you.
(SETTING: Courtroom)
Jury Foreman: Not guilty, your honor.
(CLOSE UP: KOBE'S SMILING FACE, WINKING)
KOBE: See what I mean?
---
(SETTING: Kobe, reclining in a hotel bed, taking a long sip from an icy can of Sprite.)
KOBE: After I have some rough, consensual sex, nothing quenches my thirst like a Sprite.
---
(SETTING: Kobe, lacing up some shiny Nike sneakers, just before he's escorted from his jail cell and led by officers to his trial courtroom)
KOBE: The best thing about Kobe Wipe-Offs from Nike is that sweat, body fluids and DNA wipe right off. So, on the court or in the court, Kobe Wipe-Offs are the shoe for me, and the shoe for you.
(SETTING: Courtroom)
Jury Foreman: Not guilty, your honor.
(CLOSE UP: KOBE'S SMILING FACE, WINKING)
KOBE: See what I mean?
Uday and Ixnay Hussein are Dead.
Saddam's eldest sons were killed in a gunfight in Northern Iraq.
I am using my international connections to try to contact their unusual sister, PuSay Hussein, to get her take on the matter.
Stay tuned, things in Iraq are so bad all they have is C-mail. C, of course, stands for camel.
Saddam's eldest sons were killed in a gunfight in Northern Iraq.
I am using my international connections to try to contact their unusual sister, PuSay Hussein, to get her take on the matter.
Stay tuned, things in Iraq are so bad all they have is C-mail. C, of course, stands for camel.
Holy COW
I just went to be assessed by Willie the Taskmaster.
Three hourly sessions a week for up to six months. That's what I am looking at.
I signed up for 16 sessions because he said if I worked hard enough I could possibly meet my goals by then, then just go to a regular gym and maintain what I've accomplished.
He noticed every problem spot, told me he could get rid of my Oprah upper arms, my gut, and make me look hard and curvy.
Hard and curvy? Sounds pretty damn good to me.
I just went to be assessed by Willie the Taskmaster.
Three hourly sessions a week for up to six months. That's what I am looking at.
I signed up for 16 sessions because he said if I worked hard enough I could possibly meet my goals by then, then just go to a regular gym and maintain what I've accomplished.
He noticed every problem spot, told me he could get rid of my Oprah upper arms, my gut, and make me look hard and curvy.
Hard and curvy? Sounds pretty damn good to me.
Monday, July 21, 2003
Harry Potter Five, All Done
I finished reading the freakin' 12,500 page tome and I gotta say, 15-year-olds, even Harry Potter, suck.
Here's just a brief list of things wrong with that book:
• It was too damn long.
• It weighed about six pounds and made me tired just holding it.
• Nobody had any fun at all except for those two geeky Weasley twins, and whoopie cushions and fake, exploding bat barf are only so funny.
• Hagrid is an idiot.
• How can a centaur write on a damned chalkboard?
• Cho Chang needs some Mydol.
• Harry needed to just grab her and lay one on her to shut her up.
• What good did it do to keep Harry from playing Quidditch?
• If Dumbledore is so damn powerful, how did he let Hogwarts get so fucked up?
• Why didn't someone put the deadly crustacean curse on that old bitch who took over?
• Why hasn't someone cornered Malfoy and just corn-holed the little bastard?
• Why didn't Harry start feeling sorry for Snape after he saw what they did to him as a teen?
• Weren't Ron and Hermoine supposed to start getting it on this year?
• Who won the house cup this year?
J.K. Rowling is slipping. The only thing she did really right this time was keeping the Dobby references to a minimum.
I finished reading the freakin' 12,500 page tome and I gotta say, 15-year-olds, even Harry Potter, suck.
Here's just a brief list of things wrong with that book:
• It was too damn long.
• It weighed about six pounds and made me tired just holding it.
• Nobody had any fun at all except for those two geeky Weasley twins, and whoopie cushions and fake, exploding bat barf are only so funny.
• Hagrid is an idiot.
• How can a centaur write on a damned chalkboard?
• Cho Chang needs some Mydol.
• Harry needed to just grab her and lay one on her to shut her up.
• What good did it do to keep Harry from playing Quidditch?
• If Dumbledore is so damn powerful, how did he let Hogwarts get so fucked up?
• Why didn't someone put the deadly crustacean curse on that old bitch who took over?
• Why hasn't someone cornered Malfoy and just corn-holed the little bastard?
• Why didn't Harry start feeling sorry for Snape after he saw what they did to him as a teen?
• Weren't Ron and Hermoine supposed to start getting it on this year?
• Who won the house cup this year?
J.K. Rowling is slipping. The only thing she did really right this time was keeping the Dobby references to a minimum.
Stretchy Things
Just got back from TarJAY, where I raided their yoga department and got some suitable duds for Willies's disgusting, soft porn photo session tomorrow.
Christ, I don't even wear sleeveless shirts, much less strip off and let myself be photographed by some big black guy.
I figure if I am willing to let Willie camera shoot me and paw me while he's taking my measurements, then put me on a scale and write down what he sees, doing the actual sweating and grunting to change it will be a breeze.
In my paranoia, I have ridden my bike half an hour, mowed mine and my neighbor's front lawns in the noonday sun, and I plan to lift some weights after my back stops hurting from trying on a jogging bra that was too small. I nearly ripped my ears off trying to get the damn thing off.
I felt like my torso was in one of those Chinese finger trapping tubes I used to play with as a kid.
I am beginning to get why those super buff people can be such assholes. This seems like it's gonna be a lotta work!
I need a therapeutic meditation session. Here's my mantra:
Zzzzzzz.
Just got back from TarJAY, where I raided their yoga department and got some suitable duds for Willies's disgusting, soft porn photo session tomorrow.
Christ, I don't even wear sleeveless shirts, much less strip off and let myself be photographed by some big black guy.
I figure if I am willing to let Willie camera shoot me and paw me while he's taking my measurements, then put me on a scale and write down what he sees, doing the actual sweating and grunting to change it will be a breeze.
In my paranoia, I have ridden my bike half an hour, mowed mine and my neighbor's front lawns in the noonday sun, and I plan to lift some weights after my back stops hurting from trying on a jogging bra that was too small. I nearly ripped my ears off trying to get the damn thing off.
I felt like my torso was in one of those Chinese finger trapping tubes I used to play with as a kid.
I am beginning to get why those super buff people can be such assholes. This seems like it's gonna be a lotta work!
I need a therapeutic meditation session. Here's my mantra:
Zzzzzzz.
Stretchy Things
Just got back from TarJAY, where I raided their yoga department and got some suitable duds for Willies's disgusting, soft porn photo session tomorrow.
Christ, I don't even wear sleeveless shirts, much less strip off and let myself be photographed by some big black guy.
I figure if I am willing to let Willie camera shoot me and paw me while he's taking my measurements, then put me on a scale and write down what he sees, doing the actual sweating and grunting to change it will be a breeze.
In my paranoia, I have ridden my bike half an hour, mowed mine and my neighbor's front lawns in the noonday sun, and I plan to lift some weights after my back stops hurting from trying on a jogging bra that was too small. I nearly ripped my ears off trying to get the damn thing off.
I felt like my torso was in one of those Chinese finger trapping tubes I used to play with as a kid.
I am beginning to get why those super buff people can be such assholes. This seems like it's gonna be a lotta work!
I need a therapeutic meditation session. Here's my mantra:
Zzzzzzz.
Just got back from TarJAY, where I raided their yoga department and got some suitable duds for Willies's disgusting, soft porn photo session tomorrow.
Christ, I don't even wear sleeveless shirts, much less strip off and let myself be photographed by some big black guy.
I figure if I am willing to let Willie camera shoot me and paw me while he's taking my measurements, then put me on a scale and write down what he sees, doing the actual sweating and grunting to change it will be a breeze.
In my paranoia, I have ridden my bike half an hour, mowed mine and my neighbor's front lawns in the noonday sun, and I plan to lift some weights after my back stops hurting from trying on a jogging bra that was too small. I nearly ripped my ears off trying to get the damn thing off.
I felt like my torso was in one of those Chinese finger trapping tubes I used to play with as a kid.
I am beginning to get why those super buff people can be such assholes. This seems like it's gonna be a lotta work!
I need a therapeutic meditation session. Here's my mantra:
Zzzzzzz.
Take Me I'm Yours, Willie
I called my brand new personal trainer-to-be Willie this morning to schedule our first appointment, where he'll assess my body, ask about my goals and design a program for me. He said 9:30 tomorrow morning.
He's a gorgeous, panther-black former military man who still competes in and wins body building contests.
Here was part of this morning's conversation:
Willie: Do you have a sports bra?
KZ: You must be joking.
Willie: Well, wear something tight on top so we can see what kinda shape your body is in. Like a tank top.
KZ: Okay.
Willie: Do you have biking shorts?
KZ: Yeah.
Willie: Well, wear those so we can see what your legs look like. Then we'll take some before pictures and we'll do your measurements and weigh you.
KZ: Do you have a wide angle lens?
Willie: A ha ha, I hoid that!
KZ: So, lemme get this straight, you are going to photograph me almost naked, then weigh me and take my measurements?
Willie: Uh huh. Then in six months we'll take more pictures...
Instant stomach ache.
You know how some people like to tidy up before the maid comes? Well, I freaked out and rode my bike for 30 minutes after we talked.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to pay for a personal trainer for the next six months. He's not sky high, but for what I am wanting it'll be at least $200 a month.
But by God, by January I intend to be able to crack pecans with my ass and be able to serve a salad on my belly, without any of the cherry tomatoes rolling off.
Hoo Rah!
I called my brand new personal trainer-to-be Willie this morning to schedule our first appointment, where he'll assess my body, ask about my goals and design a program for me. He said 9:30 tomorrow morning.
He's a gorgeous, panther-black former military man who still competes in and wins body building contests.
Here was part of this morning's conversation:
Willie: Do you have a sports bra?
KZ: You must be joking.
Willie: Well, wear something tight on top so we can see what kinda shape your body is in. Like a tank top.
KZ: Okay.
Willie: Do you have biking shorts?
KZ: Yeah.
Willie: Well, wear those so we can see what your legs look like. Then we'll take some before pictures and we'll do your measurements and weigh you.
KZ: Do you have a wide angle lens?
Willie: A ha ha, I hoid that!
KZ: So, lemme get this straight, you are going to photograph me almost naked, then weigh me and take my measurements?
Willie: Uh huh. Then in six months we'll take more pictures...
Instant stomach ache.
You know how some people like to tidy up before the maid comes? Well, I freaked out and rode my bike for 30 minutes after we talked.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to pay for a personal trainer for the next six months. He's not sky high, but for what I am wanting it'll be at least $200 a month.
But by God, by January I intend to be able to crack pecans with my ass and be able to serve a salad on my belly, without any of the cherry tomatoes rolling off.
Hoo Rah!
Sunday, July 20, 2003
Dragging My Ass Into the 2004
Enough. I have decided to hire a personal trainer and do whatever it takes to get buff.
I have a goal, between now and January, I am going to do whatever it takes to change the way my body looks and improve my physical health as a result.
I don't care what it costs or what I have to do, in six months I am going to be in the best shape of my life.
Can I get an amen on that?
Enough. I have decided to hire a personal trainer and do whatever it takes to get buff.
I have a goal, between now and January, I am going to do whatever it takes to change the way my body looks and improve my physical health as a result.
I don't care what it costs or what I have to do, in six months I am going to be in the best shape of my life.
Can I get an amen on that?
American Iron Chef
Okay, I may have been slightly incapacitated after dinner with Melly Saturday night, but I watched the new American version of Iron Chef and it just didn't compare to the original.
William Shatner makes a ridiculous Chairman and Bruce Villanche is hardly a distinguished member of the Japanese lower Senate.
It was dreadfully hokey.
Anyone see it?
And when is that show about five gay guys straightening out straight guys coming on next? I missed it.
Okay, I may have been slightly incapacitated after dinner with Melly Saturday night, but I watched the new American version of Iron Chef and it just didn't compare to the original.
William Shatner makes a ridiculous Chairman and Bruce Villanche is hardly a distinguished member of the Japanese lower Senate.
It was dreadfully hokey.
Anyone see it?
And when is that show about five gay guys straightening out straight guys coming on next? I missed it.
Friday, July 18, 2003
Picture this.
You are a handsome young boy whose father was a talented professional basketball player in Europe. You are the only son among sisters, and you are reared as the bright, adorable pride of the family.
Reared in Italy, you speak fluent Italian in addition to inheriting all your father's basketball talent, and then some.
You move to America late in your high school career and become a phenom in basketball, so much so the NBA drafts you right out of high school.
The first team that drafts you as a number one pick isn't quite big time enough for you, so you pout until you are traded to the huge market L.A. Lakers, where you wanted to start your pro NBA career all along.
By age 18, you are a handsome, superstar millionaire and the darling of the NBA.
You make millions more endorsing Sprite and Adidas shoes.
You become a three-time NBA champion and are voted at the top of all the all star and fan polls. You gain another $40+ million endorsing Nike products, and your NBA contract is for more than $77 million, with multi millions more to follow when that expires.
At age 22, you meet a teen angel of 17 and fall in love with her. You get engaged and married the following year. Your doting parents object, so you ignore them for a year.
An adorable baby daughter soon follows the marriage.
You are world famous, filthy rich, talented and not used to hearing the word NO.
Away from home, leaving the new bride at home to care for and recover from birthing your baby, you stay in a luxury Colorado resort.
You see a pretty, 19-year-old blonde hotel concierge and you feel like fucking her.
She comes to your room, maybe because she was promised an autograph, or maybe because you asked for something like extra towels. A concierge is trained to handle special requests from VIP guests, so it's a logical thing she might go to his room.
So you grab her sexually, she says no, so you rough her up and you fuck her anyway.
After all, what young girl wouldn't want to fuck Kobe Bryant, the man whose good looks, fame, talent and riches make him never have to hear the word no?
The Colorado police and district attorneys mull over the evidence for three solid weeks.
Through forensic evidence, DNA and witness testimony, they file felony sexual assault charges against one of the country's most powerful and richest young celebrities.
Though you initially deny fucking the girl, once arrested and charged, you publicly admit you committed adultery. Your wife, barely 21, sits loyally at your side during your tearful press conference.
Is it possible that Kobe, who had heard nothing but yesses since he was a youth, decided a no wouldn't do?
Is it possible he thought he was as invincible in a hotel bed as he was on the court, and nobody on Earth would think he'd have to force a girl to have sex with him, so he just went for what he wanted?
I think when a boy is worshipped like a little god and becomes an international idol and mega millionaire in his adulthood, he most certainly has difficulty taking no for an answer.
I think a small Colorado jurisdiction, knowing they face an attack from the best nationally known lawyers money can buy, and a trial that will change their lives, would have to have some extremely compelling evidence to file felony sexual assault charges.
In America, we are presumed innocent before we are tried...unless we are nobodies, poor, or a minority, or powerless, or unable to afford adequate legal representation.
Rich, famous people, especially superstar pro athletes, get special treatment. Think O.J. Simpson.
I think Kobe, with his own money, the Lakers' money, the NBA's money and major TV networks hoping to continue to draw viewers who worship Kobe and the Lakers, will get off with a slap on the wrist.
But I think he took what he wanted, just like he's done all his life.
You are a handsome young boy whose father was a talented professional basketball player in Europe. You are the only son among sisters, and you are reared as the bright, adorable pride of the family.
Reared in Italy, you speak fluent Italian in addition to inheriting all your father's basketball talent, and then some.
You move to America late in your high school career and become a phenom in basketball, so much so the NBA drafts you right out of high school.
The first team that drafts you as a number one pick isn't quite big time enough for you, so you pout until you are traded to the huge market L.A. Lakers, where you wanted to start your pro NBA career all along.
By age 18, you are a handsome, superstar millionaire and the darling of the NBA.
You make millions more endorsing Sprite and Adidas shoes.
You become a three-time NBA champion and are voted at the top of all the all star and fan polls. You gain another $40+ million endorsing Nike products, and your NBA contract is for more than $77 million, with multi millions more to follow when that expires.
At age 22, you meet a teen angel of 17 and fall in love with her. You get engaged and married the following year. Your doting parents object, so you ignore them for a year.
An adorable baby daughter soon follows the marriage.
You are world famous, filthy rich, talented and not used to hearing the word NO.
Away from home, leaving the new bride at home to care for and recover from birthing your baby, you stay in a luxury Colorado resort.
You see a pretty, 19-year-old blonde hotel concierge and you feel like fucking her.
She comes to your room, maybe because she was promised an autograph, or maybe because you asked for something like extra towels. A concierge is trained to handle special requests from VIP guests, so it's a logical thing she might go to his room.
So you grab her sexually, she says no, so you rough her up and you fuck her anyway.
After all, what young girl wouldn't want to fuck Kobe Bryant, the man whose good looks, fame, talent and riches make him never have to hear the word no?
The Colorado police and district attorneys mull over the evidence for three solid weeks.
Through forensic evidence, DNA and witness testimony, they file felony sexual assault charges against one of the country's most powerful and richest young celebrities.
Though you initially deny fucking the girl, once arrested and charged, you publicly admit you committed adultery. Your wife, barely 21, sits loyally at your side during your tearful press conference.
Is it possible that Kobe, who had heard nothing but yesses since he was a youth, decided a no wouldn't do?
Is it possible he thought he was as invincible in a hotel bed as he was on the court, and nobody on Earth would think he'd have to force a girl to have sex with him, so he just went for what he wanted?
I think when a boy is worshipped like a little god and becomes an international idol and mega millionaire in his adulthood, he most certainly has difficulty taking no for an answer.
I think a small Colorado jurisdiction, knowing they face an attack from the best nationally known lawyers money can buy, and a trial that will change their lives, would have to have some extremely compelling evidence to file felony sexual assault charges.
In America, we are presumed innocent before we are tried...unless we are nobodies, poor, or a minority, or powerless, or unable to afford adequate legal representation.
Rich, famous people, especially superstar pro athletes, get special treatment. Think O.J. Simpson.
I think Kobe, with his own money, the Lakers' money, the NBA's money and major TV networks hoping to continue to draw viewers who worship Kobe and the Lakers, will get off with a slap on the wrist.
But I think he took what he wanted, just like he's done all his life.
(Reuters) BAGHDAD (July 18)
"The number of U.S. soldiers killed in combat in Iraq surpassed the toll for the 1991 Gulf War on Friday when a servicemen was killed in a blast in the restive town of Fallujah..."
Now... who were the idiots who said this would be a fast, effective war?
Who was the idiot in a flight suit costume standing on an aircraft carrier back in April saying we had as much as won the war?
Uh huh. It was Dubya.
"In a speech to the U.S. Congress, (Tony) Blair said history would forgive the United States and Britain for invading Iraq, even if they were proved wrong about the threat from its suspected weapons of mass destruction..."
Oh no we won't.
"The number of U.S. soldiers killed in combat in Iraq surpassed the toll for the 1991 Gulf War on Friday when a servicemen was killed in a blast in the restive town of Fallujah..."
Now... who were the idiots who said this would be a fast, effective war?
Who was the idiot in a flight suit costume standing on an aircraft carrier back in April saying we had as much as won the war?
Uh huh. It was Dubya.
"In a speech to the U.S. Congress, (Tony) Blair said history would forgive the United States and Britain for invading Iraq, even if they were proved wrong about the threat from its suspected weapons of mass destruction..."
Oh no we won't.
I Musta Forgot
For the last 10 days I have been wallowing in a deep, muddy, suffocating depression.
I don't mean feeling blue, I mean sleeping 12-14 hours a day, isolating, not eating right and having zero energy.
Not to mention looking like Nick Nolte in his DUI mugshot.
Thank God I have a limited attention span, because I got thoroughly sick of it yesterday and rode my stationary bike about five miles. Then I lifted some weights.
Now today I feel almost normal. I can't believe how different exercise makes me feel. I may have to do more of it!
I also remembered to start saying the serenity prayer again. I am not very religious but I do have a strong sense of God, and that part about "the wisdom to know the difference" really works.
If any of you are atheist or agnostic and cannot manage the serenity prayer, remember the words of Kenny Rogers in "The Gambler."
"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run..."
Same difference.
So, today starts a new chapter.
I can't do much about the recent past, but I am tired of letting it fuck up all my todays.
The only power I have over the past is the ability to slam the gate shut on it today.
So I have.
I may not be shouting, "ONWARD AND UPWARD" just yet, but I am saying onward, and that's a start.
For the last 10 days I have been wallowing in a deep, muddy, suffocating depression.
I don't mean feeling blue, I mean sleeping 12-14 hours a day, isolating, not eating right and having zero energy.
Not to mention looking like Nick Nolte in his DUI mugshot.
Thank God I have a limited attention span, because I got thoroughly sick of it yesterday and rode my stationary bike about five miles. Then I lifted some weights.
Now today I feel almost normal. I can't believe how different exercise makes me feel. I may have to do more of it!
I also remembered to start saying the serenity prayer again. I am not very religious but I do have a strong sense of God, and that part about "the wisdom to know the difference" really works.
If any of you are atheist or agnostic and cannot manage the serenity prayer, remember the words of Kenny Rogers in "The Gambler."
"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run..."
Same difference.
So, today starts a new chapter.
I can't do much about the recent past, but I am tired of letting it fuck up all my todays.
The only power I have over the past is the ability to slam the gate shut on it today.
So I have.
I may not be shouting, "ONWARD AND UPWARD" just yet, but I am saying onward, and that's a start.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Remembering the Days...
Didn't this Blog used to be kind of funny? I seem to recall it being funny, but lately it's been a real piece of crap. Sorry folks, I've been in a funk for a few weeks now.
Last night in an attempt to defunkify myself, I went to a party.
The party itself was for a funky reason. My friends didn't get the baby they were adopting after all so they threw a thank you party for all of us who rooted for them along the way.
Someone produced a very fancy bottle of tequila toward the end and I almost ended up signing up as a Presbyterian. Long story.
Last night I held hands with a beautiful woman. That was all we did, but it felt good and everyone kind of noticed that we were doing it. Turns out the 11-year relationship she was in ended last December, but I am a little gun-shy about women who just crawled out of relationships. Anyway, she's a beautiful woman and she gave me a book of Rumi love poems for my birthday. Hmmm.
Meanwhile, the weather here has been awful. It's always either drizzling, raining or pouring and the winds are slamming all our outdoor chairs and stuff around. I haven't ridden my outdoor bike for more than a week because of all the debris in the street.
My Mexican heather plant has been over-watered from the rain and I have to put her into protective dry-out custody.
Like my Blog, things around here have been far too soggy.
Let's pray for a little sun.
Didn't this Blog used to be kind of funny? I seem to recall it being funny, but lately it's been a real piece of crap. Sorry folks, I've been in a funk for a few weeks now.
Last night in an attempt to defunkify myself, I went to a party.
The party itself was for a funky reason. My friends didn't get the baby they were adopting after all so they threw a thank you party for all of us who rooted for them along the way.
Someone produced a very fancy bottle of tequila toward the end and I almost ended up signing up as a Presbyterian. Long story.
Last night I held hands with a beautiful woman. That was all we did, but it felt good and everyone kind of noticed that we were doing it. Turns out the 11-year relationship she was in ended last December, but I am a little gun-shy about women who just crawled out of relationships. Anyway, she's a beautiful woman and she gave me a book of Rumi love poems for my birthday. Hmmm.
Meanwhile, the weather here has been awful. It's always either drizzling, raining or pouring and the winds are slamming all our outdoor chairs and stuff around. I haven't ridden my outdoor bike for more than a week because of all the debris in the street.
My Mexican heather plant has been over-watered from the rain and I have to put her into protective dry-out custody.
Like my Blog, things around here have been far too soggy.
Let's pray for a little sun.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Doctor Doctor, Gimme the News
I went in for my annual physical today and everything is pretty damn peachy.
My doctor, who reminds me of a younger, prettier Charro from Love Boat fame, did a thorough breast exam which was actually quite pleasant. The girls just loved it.
Now all I have to do is some very disgusting things with popsicle sticks and stool over a three-day period, get another mammo, a bone density exam and another gyno exam.
My mood is somewhat brighter than yesterday. Must be the barometric pressure and the passing of the full moon.
Last night I dreamed I was sleeping overnight at my Mom's house alone with a girlfriend, and in the middle of the night all eight of Mom's TVs turned themselves on. Even after I unplugged them all they were still on. Wonder what the hell that meant?
After the physical, I went to the grocery store and resisted the urge to buy a cookie.
Boring life? You bet it is.
I went in for my annual physical today and everything is pretty damn peachy.
My doctor, who reminds me of a younger, prettier Charro from Love Boat fame, did a thorough breast exam which was actually quite pleasant. The girls just loved it.
Now all I have to do is some very disgusting things with popsicle sticks and stool over a three-day period, get another mammo, a bone density exam and another gyno exam.
My mood is somewhat brighter than yesterday. Must be the barometric pressure and the passing of the full moon.
Last night I dreamed I was sleeping overnight at my Mom's house alone with a girlfriend, and in the middle of the night all eight of Mom's TVs turned themselves on. Even after I unplugged them all they were still on. Wonder what the hell that meant?
After the physical, I went to the grocery store and resisted the urge to buy a cookie.
Boring life? You bet it is.
Monday, July 14, 2003
Fucking fuckity fuck!
I am so tired of being depressed I wish I could remove my head, empty out the recent memories and start the fuck all over.
It's not just me and my silly yo-yo chick problem.
Too many of my friends are going through similar shit.
One of them, a brilliant art director/designer has been out of work for more than a year. The economy sucks and agencies are not hiring anyone beyond $20k a year starter designers.
Another couple have been slaving away all summer getting a nursery ready for their adopted baby boy. The birth mother had the kid last Thursday and changed her mind about giving him up. So now the baby faces a life in a small trailer with slacker parents.
Another friend was working for this jerk who got caught up in a cult and he's managed to ruin a highly successful business in less than six months. She's got two weeks to go before she's on the dole.
My neighbor's husband and son both got laid off in the same month.
Is Mercury in retrograde or what?
What the fuck's going on lately?
I've had it. I have tried a spiritual approach but now I'm just pissed off in general. I just want everyone to be happy. Is that so much to ask?
I am so tired of being depressed I wish I could remove my head, empty out the recent memories and start the fuck all over.
It's not just me and my silly yo-yo chick problem.
Too many of my friends are going through similar shit.
One of them, a brilliant art director/designer has been out of work for more than a year. The economy sucks and agencies are not hiring anyone beyond $20k a year starter designers.
Another couple have been slaving away all summer getting a nursery ready for their adopted baby boy. The birth mother had the kid last Thursday and changed her mind about giving him up. So now the baby faces a life in a small trailer with slacker parents.
Another friend was working for this jerk who got caught up in a cult and he's managed to ruin a highly successful business in less than six months. She's got two weeks to go before she's on the dole.
My neighbor's husband and son both got laid off in the same month.
Is Mercury in retrograde or what?
What the fuck's going on lately?
I've had it. I have tried a spiritual approach but now I'm just pissed off in general. I just want everyone to be happy. Is that so much to ask?
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Cedric the Entertainer
I couldn't quite hack the afternoon baby shower. Somehow a gaggle of gals chirping over a baby-to-be wasn't quite the tonic I needed after a night of debauchery.
One look at me when I arrived made Anna agree, my time was probably best spent back in bed where I wouldn't frighten anyone with my disheveled clothes, pale skin and bedhead. I think I looked a little like Nick Nolte in his DUI mugshot.
I came home and slept about three solid hours and it was good.
Tonight will be better.
Freshly showered and blow dried, I'll be going to see Cedric the Entertainer at the Majestic Theater tonight. He's one of the original kings of comedy and he's just plain hilarious.
The emotional hair shirt I thought I'd removed last week keeps crawling back on. I think Cedric will help peel it off again.
I couldn't quite hack the afternoon baby shower. Somehow a gaggle of gals chirping over a baby-to-be wasn't quite the tonic I needed after a night of debauchery.
One look at me when I arrived made Anna agree, my time was probably best spent back in bed where I wouldn't frighten anyone with my disheveled clothes, pale skin and bedhead. I think I looked a little like Nick Nolte in his DUI mugshot.
I came home and slept about three solid hours and it was good.
Tonight will be better.
Freshly showered and blow dried, I'll be going to see Cedric the Entertainer at the Majestic Theater tonight. He's one of the original kings of comedy and he's just plain hilarious.
The emotional hair shirt I thought I'd removed last week keeps crawling back on. I think Cedric will help peel it off again.
Saturday, July 12, 2003
State of the Onion Address
After hearing so much about the uranium-Africa-Saddam connection in the Resident's State of the Union Address, did anyone notice how the CIA Director promptly fell on the sword?
This one's just too easy to poke holes in.
I'm going to let this Big Fat Lie go by without further comment.
After hearing so much about the uranium-Africa-Saddam connection in the Resident's State of the Union Address, did anyone notice how the CIA Director promptly fell on the sword?
This one's just too easy to poke holes in.
I'm going to let this Big Fat Lie go by without further comment.
Friday, July 11, 2003
The Faux Girly Girl
My best friend Anna is hosting a baby shower on Sunday for her preggers friend Eleanor.
I happened to be present for the initial idea of the shower and was roped in by default.
Turns out Ms. Prada (aka Anna) has all the skills at planning girly events as a pro wrestler might.
Poor dear doesn't even have rudimentary garnishing tools.
So here comes the old dyke to the rescue.
I amused myself by forcing Anna to look through a garnishing book of assorted carved fruits and veggies as table adornments. She nixed the yellow squash ducks, the tomato roses and most of the other cutsie things.
I'll be carving a watermelon into a baby carriage and filling it with assorted melon balls. The wheels will be orange slices with cherry hubcaps.
Anna rolled her eyes, saying it might be better to just call a caterer and order up piles of baby shower food.
I think a woman needs to know how to cater her own baby shower.
Fortunately, I was raised by gay men who appreciated the fine art of frou-frou.
I am looking forward to laying out the pastel butter mints, filling the little nut cups, and making the super slim finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
I even hauled out of storage an ancient heirloom punchbowl my parents got as a wedding present back in the 40's. Yes, we are making punch and I am forcing Anna to create an ice block filled with cherries and slim citrus wedges. She nixed the edible flower idea.
She may be wearing the perfect hostess ensemble for this event and I may be in a loose T-shirt and shorts, but by God, I'll be the faggot who was behind the scenes making everything look girly.
My best friend Anna is hosting a baby shower on Sunday for her preggers friend Eleanor.
I happened to be present for the initial idea of the shower and was roped in by default.
Turns out Ms. Prada (aka Anna) has all the skills at planning girly events as a pro wrestler might.
Poor dear doesn't even have rudimentary garnishing tools.
So here comes the old dyke to the rescue.
I amused myself by forcing Anna to look through a garnishing book of assorted carved fruits and veggies as table adornments. She nixed the yellow squash ducks, the tomato roses and most of the other cutsie things.
I'll be carving a watermelon into a baby carriage and filling it with assorted melon balls. The wheels will be orange slices with cherry hubcaps.
Anna rolled her eyes, saying it might be better to just call a caterer and order up piles of baby shower food.
I think a woman needs to know how to cater her own baby shower.
Fortunately, I was raised by gay men who appreciated the fine art of frou-frou.
I am looking forward to laying out the pastel butter mints, filling the little nut cups, and making the super slim finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
I even hauled out of storage an ancient heirloom punchbowl my parents got as a wedding present back in the 40's. Yes, we are making punch and I am forcing Anna to create an ice block filled with cherries and slim citrus wedges. She nixed the edible flower idea.
She may be wearing the perfect hostess ensemble for this event and I may be in a loose T-shirt and shorts, but by God, I'll be the faggot who was behind the scenes making everything look girly.
Taking Off the Hair Shirt
Whew. After a week of relative isolation and soul searching, I think my basic, happy go lucky superficiality has kicked in again and righted my lopsided world.
Suffice it to say, my relationship with la is officially over, after yesterday's last ditch groveling failed to produce anything beyond the repeated phrase, "you need to move on."
When the phrase "I love you" is constantly capped with "but," it is indeed time to move on.
So I shall, and I wish her well. I will miss her but I will not miss the constant vacillation.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about my friends Christie and Becky, an A-list lesbian couple whose domestic dispute turned into a fatal gunshot wound, killing Becky. Yesterday on the news I learned that Christie will not be charged with murder. The case was ruled self defense, as I was certain it would be.
Christie held a press conference after the decision, urging other victims of spousal abuse to stop keeping the secret and get out before they suffer a similar catastrophe. She looked like hell. I am sure her emotional life is ruined, and her career can't have been helped by this ordeal. Heaven help her and I hope Becky's soul is resting in peace.
Whew. After a week of relative isolation and soul searching, I think my basic, happy go lucky superficiality has kicked in again and righted my lopsided world.
Suffice it to say, my relationship with la is officially over, after yesterday's last ditch groveling failed to produce anything beyond the repeated phrase, "you need to move on."
When the phrase "I love you" is constantly capped with "but," it is indeed time to move on.
So I shall, and I wish her well. I will miss her but I will not miss the constant vacillation.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about my friends Christie and Becky, an A-list lesbian couple whose domestic dispute turned into a fatal gunshot wound, killing Becky. Yesterday on the news I learned that Christie will not be charged with murder. The case was ruled self defense, as I was certain it would be.
Christie held a press conference after the decision, urging other victims of spousal abuse to stop keeping the secret and get out before they suffer a similar catastrophe. She looked like hell. I am sure her emotional life is ruined, and her career can't have been helped by this ordeal. Heaven help her and I hope Becky's soul is resting in peace.
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Sunday, July 06, 2003
Kobe the Schmuck
L.A. Lakers superstar guard and noted ball hog Kobe Bryant was arrested for felonious sexual assault in Colorado on Friday, where he turned himself in and posted a $25,000 bond.
Seems Kobe allegedly raped a woman in a hotel near Vail on June 1. Prosecutors investigated the crime for more than a month and claim to have plenty of physical evidence and credible witnesses. No rush to justice there, Johnny Cochran.
Arresting a superstar from a big market team like the Lakers would require insanely extensive evidence, lest Colorado police and prosecutor heads would roll.
Bryant was married in April 2001, and he and his wife had a baby girl in January.
I know Laker fanatics will claim the alleged rape was consensual sex.
So, that would mean he's just a rat who cheats on his 19-year-old bride while she stays at home watching their infant.
I don't like the Lakers but I begrudgingly admired Kobe's talent on the court. I also respected his dedication to off-season practice and conditioning. His ego, which is roughly the size of Maine, I never liked.
Kobe's NBA salary contract is somewhere in the $70 million neighborhood. Commercial endorsements add probably another $20 million annually.
This will be an interesting case to watch.
If the DNA evidence and witnesses are credible enough to warrant a guilty verdict, will he be sentenced and jailed like any other thug rapist punk, or will he get a little hand slap and be out in time for game one of the new season?
My bet is the little weasel will be suited up and off the hook well before the season begins.
I can just see it.
Flanked by Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and the reincarnation of Martin Luther King, he'll insist it was a case of inadvertent, consensual sex and that he made a terrible mistake, then he'll talk about God or Jesus appearing to him and causing a spiritual rebirth and all the sorrow and regret he feels over his first and only carnal transgression.
Then he'll say he's come out of this a better man, he's gotten counseling and all is well in the Bryant household.
A word to his bride.
If he admits screwing this woman (and DNA may force him to do that), take him for all he's got, grab the baby and go out and find yourself a decent guy who can keep it in his pants.
L.A. Lakers superstar guard and noted ball hog Kobe Bryant was arrested for felonious sexual assault in Colorado on Friday, where he turned himself in and posted a $25,000 bond.
Seems Kobe allegedly raped a woman in a hotel near Vail on June 1. Prosecutors investigated the crime for more than a month and claim to have plenty of physical evidence and credible witnesses. No rush to justice there, Johnny Cochran.
Arresting a superstar from a big market team like the Lakers would require insanely extensive evidence, lest Colorado police and prosecutor heads would roll.
Bryant was married in April 2001, and he and his wife had a baby girl in January.
I know Laker fanatics will claim the alleged rape was consensual sex.
So, that would mean he's just a rat who cheats on his 19-year-old bride while she stays at home watching their infant.
I don't like the Lakers but I begrudgingly admired Kobe's talent on the court. I also respected his dedication to off-season practice and conditioning. His ego, which is roughly the size of Maine, I never liked.
Kobe's NBA salary contract is somewhere in the $70 million neighborhood. Commercial endorsements add probably another $20 million annually.
This will be an interesting case to watch.
If the DNA evidence and witnesses are credible enough to warrant a guilty verdict, will he be sentenced and jailed like any other thug rapist punk, or will he get a little hand slap and be out in time for game one of the new season?
My bet is the little weasel will be suited up and off the hook well before the season begins.
I can just see it.
Flanked by Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and the reincarnation of Martin Luther King, he'll insist it was a case of inadvertent, consensual sex and that he made a terrible mistake, then he'll talk about God or Jesus appearing to him and causing a spiritual rebirth and all the sorrow and regret he feels over his first and only carnal transgression.
Then he'll say he's come out of this a better man, he's gotten counseling and all is well in the Bryant household.
A word to his bride.
If he admits screwing this woman (and DNA may force him to do that), take him for all he's got, grab the baby and go out and find yourself a decent guy who can keep it in his pants.
Sunday, Bloggy Sunday
Wow.
Yesterday I found the ultimate in nerdy cable TV, the C-Span Book channel.
If middle age is exposed by wobbling jowls, wearing sensible shoes, eating more dietary fiber, listening to NPR and having to use Icy Hot after vigorous sex, watching Book TV is the ultimate geezer alert. I think I have finally arrived!
Yesterday they featured a panel discussion between authors/political pundits Al Franken, Molly Ivins and Bill O' Reilly. Al and Bill were having a pissing contest better than any tavern brawl in Cotula, Texas. Molly was actually the soothing voice of reason, which is sort of like Calamity Jane officiating a spat between Gandhi and The Dali Lama.
Through the day, many other authors discussed their upcoming books. Some were so dull in terms of historical minutiae about obscure battles between extinct countries that happened centuries ago, even Barcodie himself would ask who the hell cared.
Zoom ahead to my dinner date last night with la, back from the beach one day early.
Suffice it to say, she is the one woman in my long lesbian career who continually amazes me, confounds me, stands up to me, backs me down, props me up, soothes me, makes my head spin, frustrates me, confuses me, rocks my world, makes me laugh until I cry, and taps into every neurotransmitter that signals every nerve impulse across every synapse in my being.
She woke me up from a dream she had last night in the wee hours, and it made me laugh so hard the cats ran out of the room.
Although she is well-educated and quite comfortable financially, she has this mortal fear she will end up in her old age, pushing a crap-loaded shopping cart down the street, muttering gibberish to herself.
She dreamed that her shopping cart did not hold enough of her earthly possessions so she somehow acquired one of those square washateria carts so she could hitch it to her basket and put a chest of drawers in it for added capacity. Then she worried in her dream the drawers weren't going to be roomy enough.
The vision of her pushing that contraption down the street just gives a small glimpse of how her mind works. She's continually planning her shopping cart retirement plans, awake and now even when she dreams.
She's the only person I know whose insanity compliments my own so seamlessly.
All this time I'd been wondering how I'd stuff all my crap into my twin bike baskets once I got old enough for the cheese to slip off my cracker and I took to the open roads.
Now at least I may have the option of some extra drawer space in her washateria cart.
If she'll have me.
Wow.
Yesterday I found the ultimate in nerdy cable TV, the C-Span Book channel.
If middle age is exposed by wobbling jowls, wearing sensible shoes, eating more dietary fiber, listening to NPR and having to use Icy Hot after vigorous sex, watching Book TV is the ultimate geezer alert. I think I have finally arrived!
Yesterday they featured a panel discussion between authors/political pundits Al Franken, Molly Ivins and Bill O' Reilly. Al and Bill were having a pissing contest better than any tavern brawl in Cotula, Texas. Molly was actually the soothing voice of reason, which is sort of like Calamity Jane officiating a spat between Gandhi and The Dali Lama.
Through the day, many other authors discussed their upcoming books. Some were so dull in terms of historical minutiae about obscure battles between extinct countries that happened centuries ago, even Barcodie himself would ask who the hell cared.
Zoom ahead to my dinner date last night with la, back from the beach one day early.
Suffice it to say, she is the one woman in my long lesbian career who continually amazes me, confounds me, stands up to me, backs me down, props me up, soothes me, makes my head spin, frustrates me, confuses me, rocks my world, makes me laugh until I cry, and taps into every neurotransmitter that signals every nerve impulse across every synapse in my being.
She woke me up from a dream she had last night in the wee hours, and it made me laugh so hard the cats ran out of the room.
Although she is well-educated and quite comfortable financially, she has this mortal fear she will end up in her old age, pushing a crap-loaded shopping cart down the street, muttering gibberish to herself.
She dreamed that her shopping cart did not hold enough of her earthly possessions so she somehow acquired one of those square washateria carts so she could hitch it to her basket and put a chest of drawers in it for added capacity. Then she worried in her dream the drawers weren't going to be roomy enough.
The vision of her pushing that contraption down the street just gives a small glimpse of how her mind works. She's continually planning her shopping cart retirement plans, awake and now even when she dreams.
She's the only person I know whose insanity compliments my own so seamlessly.
All this time I'd been wondering how I'd stuff all my crap into my twin bike baskets once I got old enough for the cheese to slip off my cracker and I took to the open roads.
Now at least I may have the option of some extra drawer space in her washateria cart.
If she'll have me.
Friday, July 04, 2003
Achy Breaky Neck
Yesterday I spend several consecutive hours making la a birthday card. I apparently held my head in one place too long and I think I broke my neck.
I was so immobilized and in so much pain I went frantically digging through my meds like a junkie. Thank God for leftover Flexeril and Canadian Tylenol with codeine.
I think I may have had a few phone calls after the meds had kicked in, so let me apologize in advance to anyone to whom I may have said something inadvertent.
The girlfriend called from the coast late last night. It rained all day and she was stuck in her RV with 2 friends, 2 kids and a Border Collie. Egads, I'm glad I'm on a beach timeout.
She's been clean and sober for 17 years now. I am sure she felt like she was talking to Judy Garland on a bender.
This morning I feel better. I can actually turn my head a little. My bed smells like icy hot ache ointment. How romantic.
Now all I have to do is rest up for a barbecue I'm attending this afternoon. You know you're getting old when you have to rest up for a party.
I guess the next stage will be pantsuits, knee-high hose and even more sensible shoes.
Y'all have a safe and happy Fourth.
Yesterday I spend several consecutive hours making la a birthday card. I apparently held my head in one place too long and I think I broke my neck.
I was so immobilized and in so much pain I went frantically digging through my meds like a junkie. Thank God for leftover Flexeril and Canadian Tylenol with codeine.
I think I may have had a few phone calls after the meds had kicked in, so let me apologize in advance to anyone to whom I may have said something inadvertent.
The girlfriend called from the coast late last night. It rained all day and she was stuck in her RV with 2 friends, 2 kids and a Border Collie. Egads, I'm glad I'm on a beach timeout.
She's been clean and sober for 17 years now. I am sure she felt like she was talking to Judy Garland on a bender.
This morning I feel better. I can actually turn my head a little. My bed smells like icy hot ache ointment. How romantic.
Now all I have to do is rest up for a barbecue I'm attending this afternoon. You know you're getting old when you have to rest up for a party.
I guess the next stage will be pantsuits, knee-high hose and even more sensible shoes.
Y'all have a safe and happy Fourth.
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
Concentric Bloggy Circles™
I've been on a little spirit quest these past few weeks.
Seems like reigning in all of life's little problems and taking a look at them is a great way to see that things are pretty damn good, considering.
Take my health, for instance.
With diabetes, there are daily glucose levels to monitor, then there's the mother of all tests, the quarterly Hemoglobin A1c (or Glycohemoglobin) blood test. That test gives an overall 24/7 glucose average for the last 3-4 months.
When I first was given that test, I measured an 11, which is considered totally fucked up. Nine point five is considered poor, if that tells you anything.
I got the results from a recent lab test I took and I am now a 6.7, which they call excellent. Normal people should be around 6.5 or less.
My lab tests reveal a few weird spots like an elevated thyroid, but I can't read my doctor's handwriting so I could be totally wrong about that. I'll see her on the 20th for that horrid total physical exam that includes a leisurely stroll up my colon with some kind of giant, inflexible oscopy tool. Ow.
The summer weather here has been less than hellacious. I use my lawn as a gauge. It's still green, so that's a good sign. My basil is still hearty, so that's another good sign.
As far as my g/f goes, letting go of all the labels, terms, strings, conditions and expectations has been the best thing we ever came up with.
Here's something I read that I may have tattooed on my arm. "One's level of expectation is in inverse proportion to one's level of serenity."
Yeah, baby.
Yesterday I bought a new garden hose. It rained.
I almost threw out a T-shirt I thought was too small. It fit.
I found a Spurs championship T-shirt at a street vendor's for 5 bucks.
My cat almost puked up a hairball. He changed his mind.
Life is good.
I've been on a little spirit quest these past few weeks.
Seems like reigning in all of life's little problems and taking a look at them is a great way to see that things are pretty damn good, considering.
Take my health, for instance.
With diabetes, there are daily glucose levels to monitor, then there's the mother of all tests, the quarterly Hemoglobin A1c (or Glycohemoglobin) blood test. That test gives an overall 24/7 glucose average for the last 3-4 months.
When I first was given that test, I measured an 11, which is considered totally fucked up. Nine point five is considered poor, if that tells you anything.
I got the results from a recent lab test I took and I am now a 6.7, which they call excellent. Normal people should be around 6.5 or less.
My lab tests reveal a few weird spots like an elevated thyroid, but I can't read my doctor's handwriting so I could be totally wrong about that. I'll see her on the 20th for that horrid total physical exam that includes a leisurely stroll up my colon with some kind of giant, inflexible oscopy tool. Ow.
The summer weather here has been less than hellacious. I use my lawn as a gauge. It's still green, so that's a good sign. My basil is still hearty, so that's another good sign.
As far as my g/f goes, letting go of all the labels, terms, strings, conditions and expectations has been the best thing we ever came up with.
Here's something I read that I may have tattooed on my arm. "One's level of expectation is in inverse proportion to one's level of serenity."
Yeah, baby.
Yesterday I bought a new garden hose. It rained.
I almost threw out a T-shirt I thought was too small. It fit.
I found a Spurs championship T-shirt at a street vendor's for 5 bucks.
My cat almost puked up a hairball. He changed his mind.
Life is good.
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
Do Not Call
Wouldn't it be funny if the massive DO NOT CALL campaign, where we register our phone numbers with the feds to block telemarketers, was a ruse to GET our phone numbers? Better not be, I just registered.
We need to take the movement to the Internet and get a DO NOT SPAM thing going on.
This morning I got maybe 40 e-mails, all of them mailer daemon or postmaster spam. I have some kind of bug that AOL advised me how to fix. Alas, I couldn't decipher a word they wrote and their message disappeared because all the spam knocked it off my old mail list within a few hours.
We also need a national NO SHITTY CALLS registry. That would cover calls where friends and/or family want to borrow something, need a pet sitter, want to whine about their horrid lover or spouse, or say the dreaded, "I just need to vent."
I have caller ID and voice mail. All three of my phones have caller ID. Besides the ATM, those features have been the greatest invention of the 20th century. Still the telemarketers sneak in at times, but not for long.
If you haven't already done it, you can register to block telemarketers at http://www.donotcall.gov.
You're welcome.
Wouldn't it be funny if the massive DO NOT CALL campaign, where we register our phone numbers with the feds to block telemarketers, was a ruse to GET our phone numbers? Better not be, I just registered.
We need to take the movement to the Internet and get a DO NOT SPAM thing going on.
This morning I got maybe 40 e-mails, all of them mailer daemon or postmaster spam. I have some kind of bug that AOL advised me how to fix. Alas, I couldn't decipher a word they wrote and their message disappeared because all the spam knocked it off my old mail list within a few hours.
We also need a national NO SHITTY CALLS registry. That would cover calls where friends and/or family want to borrow something, need a pet sitter, want to whine about their horrid lover or spouse, or say the dreaded, "I just need to vent."
I have caller ID and voice mail. All three of my phones have caller ID. Besides the ATM, those features have been the greatest invention of the 20th century. Still the telemarketers sneak in at times, but not for long.
If you haven't already done it, you can register to block telemarketers at http://www.donotcall.gov.
You're welcome.
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