Puzzling Events
This morning I learned that a woman very special to me had collapsed during a morning meeting and was rushed to the hospital, where she's being treated for a broken wrist, a conk on the head and dehydration.
She is not local, nor is she accessible by phone, so I am planning to just stand by and worry like a Jewish mother.
Then I went to Willie's House of Pain at 2 p.m. and found my trainer Willie dressed in street clothes, looking a little dazed. Seems his wife, Mrs. Jett, was rushed to the hospital this morning with something that could be as simple as a virus or as serious as a stroke.
That sad news hardly allowed me to rejoice at not having to work out today.
Anyway, I believe in the spiritual power of group consciousness, so if y'all will help send some healing light to these two lovely ladies, I'd appreciate it.
And be careful. These things run in threes.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
Kobe Bryant's Arraignment
I think either alleged rapist Kobe Bryant does whatever he wants to do, or his lawyer hasn't got any sense.
To show up in a courtroom wearing a casual, off-white sportscoat, an open collared shirt and no tie kind of screams "cavalier attitude."
Hell, I dressed up for jury duty and I was trying NOT to be picked. It's just a matter of common sense, mature adults dress for court.
For him to show up without his wife was even worse. Where's all that support she supposedly has for him? Where was his family?
What does that tell an audience of tens of millions of people who saw it on TV?
I guess it just ain't no big deal for number 8.
I think either alleged rapist Kobe Bryant does whatever he wants to do, or his lawyer hasn't got any sense.
To show up in a courtroom wearing a casual, off-white sportscoat, an open collared shirt and no tie kind of screams "cavalier attitude."
Hell, I dressed up for jury duty and I was trying NOT to be picked. It's just a matter of common sense, mature adults dress for court.
For him to show up without his wife was even worse. Where's all that support she supposedly has for him? Where was his family?
What does that tell an audience of tens of millions of people who saw it on TV?
I guess it just ain't no big deal for number 8.
I Must Have Forgotten to Move
Texas in August causes brain damage.
Yesterday it was so hot, when I got into my car I had to use a little cloth over the shifter to slide from park into reverse.
The AC in my car was on full blast, but only managed to bring down the interior temperature to around 80 degrees by the time I drove the 3 miles to Willie's House of Pain.
Willie's HoP is nicely air conditioned, but I started sweating like a horse between getting off the treadmill and getting on the elliptical trainer.
Seems the humidity outside trumps air conditioning inside.
Once I started on the ab crunching machine, I was flinging sweat like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance.
I was sucking my water bottle like a foal on a mare. I ran out the before the session did.
Texas in August is a horrid, vitality sucking kiln.
A friend of mine wanted to pop in for a visit sometime soon. She lives out west, where the summers are perfect. August is not the time for her to come to Texas.
Only a fool would choose to be in Texas in August.
Especially Crawford, Texas.
Texas in August causes brain damage.
Yesterday it was so hot, when I got into my car I had to use a little cloth over the shifter to slide from park into reverse.
The AC in my car was on full blast, but only managed to bring down the interior temperature to around 80 degrees by the time I drove the 3 miles to Willie's House of Pain.
Willie's HoP is nicely air conditioned, but I started sweating like a horse between getting off the treadmill and getting on the elliptical trainer.
Seems the humidity outside trumps air conditioning inside.
Once I started on the ab crunching machine, I was flinging sweat like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance.
I was sucking my water bottle like a foal on a mare. I ran out the before the session did.
Texas in August is a horrid, vitality sucking kiln.
A friend of mine wanted to pop in for a visit sometime soon. She lives out west, where the summers are perfect. August is not the time for her to come to Texas.
Only a fool would choose to be in Texas in August.
Especially Crawford, Texas.
Monday, August 04, 2003
The Secret Diary of Pu-Say Hussein
Saddam's Unusual Daughter
My days have become nightmares with my father may Allah bash his head with one of his own large Lladro statuettes here at the palace.
As I mentioned last time, he is demanding I make him into a woman costume. I sewed for him a burqa and he raged at me because he said, "The shoulder pads were not big like Krystal's!" And he scream too that the wig I got for him from the concubine's costume room was brown and not blonde with large flips going back on the sides.
So confused was I.
It turns out father, may Allah stick caplets of Gingko Baloba far into his anal cavity, was confused when he said he wanted to look like evil american georgebush actress Joan Collins.
He meant to say evil american georgebush actress Linda Evans, and perhaps I should have known that because he has many, many beautiful portraits of her painted on black velvet in his private quarters, and his computer screen saver also he has her there too except I suspect her head is on someone else's naked body because this body has very large breasts large like soccer balls.
Quickly I had to enlarge the shoulder pads by using plush hand towels folded three times.
Then my concubines and I rapidly located the blonde wig with the large flips all around the head and father may Allah kick his shin until it splinters became red with angry and said, "Not Farrah wig, Krystal wig!"
We had to rush to find the proper wig, which we found in his sleeping chamber under his Yanni music recordings.
Finally he donned the correct wig and the burqa with the very large shoulder pads and commanded us to play the Yanni music while he swirled and swirled around the ballroom like a dervish, except as a female dervish which was very unsightly.
This has been going on for hours now may Allah make him very sleepy for a long long time.
I know not what to do and this music never seems go on to another song so the swirling continues without end and my head is pounding.
Allah, I beseech you, please do something.
Saddam's Unusual Daughter
My days have become nightmares with my father may Allah bash his head with one of his own large Lladro statuettes here at the palace.
As I mentioned last time, he is demanding I make him into a woman costume. I sewed for him a burqa and he raged at me because he said, "The shoulder pads were not big like Krystal's!" And he scream too that the wig I got for him from the concubine's costume room was brown and not blonde with large flips going back on the sides.
So confused was I.
It turns out father, may Allah stick caplets of Gingko Baloba far into his anal cavity, was confused when he said he wanted to look like evil american georgebush actress Joan Collins.
He meant to say evil american georgebush actress Linda Evans, and perhaps I should have known that because he has many, many beautiful portraits of her painted on black velvet in his private quarters, and his computer screen saver also he has her there too except I suspect her head is on someone else's naked body because this body has very large breasts large like soccer balls.
Quickly I had to enlarge the shoulder pads by using plush hand towels folded three times.
Then my concubines and I rapidly located the blonde wig with the large flips all around the head and father may Allah kick his shin until it splinters became red with angry and said, "Not Farrah wig, Krystal wig!"
We had to rush to find the proper wig, which we found in his sleeping chamber under his Yanni music recordings.
Finally he donned the correct wig and the burqa with the very large shoulder pads and commanded us to play the Yanni music while he swirled and swirled around the ballroom like a dervish, except as a female dervish which was very unsightly.
This has been going on for hours now may Allah make him very sleepy for a long long time.
I know not what to do and this music never seems go on to another song so the swirling continues without end and my head is pounding.
Allah, I beseech you, please do something.
Who Wants to Marry My Dud?
I finally broke down and watched an episode of "Who Wants to Marry My Dad?"
I am starting to think my gay and lesbian compadres who are lobbying for the right to legally marry are setting their sites a little low.
The show was just plain creepy. Three aging Barbie dolls were vying for hand of the dad, who looked like Captain Picard. His four goofy grown kids were the jury.
They showed the dad taking each of the three remaining contestants on a date. It was highly discriminatory toward women of Brunetteish-American descent, and I may have to sue.
Blonde #2 got to sail with the dad on a fully staffed, half million dollar yacht. The dad fawned over her as she tried to feign interest and stifle her yawns.
Blonde #1 got taken to Rodeo Drive in a stretch limo, where they dressed her up and bejeweled her like a princess, then they drove the couple down the streets of Beverly Hills in a horse-drawn Cinderella carriage. Then they waltzed in a ballroom to their own private string quartet.
The brunette got a brown bag picnic of Cheese Whiz, Ritz crackers, an orange and a liter of red Gatorade, served on a stained acrylic blanket thrown carelessly against the banks of a muddy pond. He made out with her and I think I saw him copping a feel.
They lie detectored one of the blondes and the brunette. The blonde was a big fat liar. The brunette was 100 percent truthful.
At the end, the kids voted Brownie off the show. She cried real tears.
Now the dad will end up with one of the blondes.
That'll teach him.
I finally broke down and watched an episode of "Who Wants to Marry My Dad?"
I am starting to think my gay and lesbian compadres who are lobbying for the right to legally marry are setting their sites a little low.
The show was just plain creepy. Three aging Barbie dolls were vying for hand of the dad, who looked like Captain Picard. His four goofy grown kids were the jury.
They showed the dad taking each of the three remaining contestants on a date. It was highly discriminatory toward women of Brunetteish-American descent, and I may have to sue.
Blonde #2 got to sail with the dad on a fully staffed, half million dollar yacht. The dad fawned over her as she tried to feign interest and stifle her yawns.
Blonde #1 got taken to Rodeo Drive in a stretch limo, where they dressed her up and bejeweled her like a princess, then they drove the couple down the streets of Beverly Hills in a horse-drawn Cinderella carriage. Then they waltzed in a ballroom to their own private string quartet.
The brunette got a brown bag picnic of Cheese Whiz, Ritz crackers, an orange and a liter of red Gatorade, served on a stained acrylic blanket thrown carelessly against the banks of a muddy pond. He made out with her and I think I saw him copping a feel.
They lie detectored one of the blondes and the brunette. The blonde was a big fat liar. The brunette was 100 percent truthful.
At the end, the kids voted Brownie off the show. She cried real tears.
Now the dad will end up with one of the blondes.
That'll teach him.
Zipdrive Goes to the Movies
(only she didn't actually see this one)
Now, I am not a Hollywood film mogul but I can say with some certainty that naming a movie something nobody can pronounce is a bad idea.
Gigli? Giggly? Geegly? Yigly?
What the fuc--yo, fogeddabouddit!
Okay, now I like Ben Affleck. His role in "Chasing Amy" made me actually root for the straight guy to get the gay girl in a lesbian movie, and that's saying something!
But Ben, honey, all right already! One lesbian conquest is enough in a guy's film career.
As for JLo, well hell, she put San Antonio and Selena on the map with that movie.
Her ass has just about set the standard for superior assitude. She's just fine is what she is.
But JLo as a lesbian enforcer? What?
Don't those Hollywood moguls know that JLo is one of the only women in the history of Hollywood that we gossipy lesbians DON'T speculate is a secret lesbo?
She is pure hetero!
I mean, she dated P Puffy Diddy Combs, for God's sake! No lesbian is gonna get near her spicy love taco after something like that!
Okay, and another thing.
Ben is a handsome guy. Don't be fucking up his hair with a big Pompadour job like that. We don't want to see that.
And don't be casting him as a dumb, thuggish wanna be. We know he's a smart, New Englander kind of preppy guy, and we don't believe he can be a dumb Jersey guy.
And the mob doesn't have girl enforcers, and especially not dyke girl enforcers who don't even look like dykes. Come on, you saw the Godfather movies, Wiseguys and Married to the Mob, did you see even one lesbian in any of them? No! Does Tony Soprano have any lesbians on his payroll? I think not.
For God's sake, people.
There's only one way I'll see Gigli.
It'd have to be at 3 am on HBO when the only other shows on cable are infomercials or religious broadcasts. I'll have to be in an altered state, passed out on the couch, and the batteries in the clicker will have to be dead.
Hey Melly! Wanna come watch it with me?
(only she didn't actually see this one)
Now, I am not a Hollywood film mogul but I can say with some certainty that naming a movie something nobody can pronounce is a bad idea.
Gigli? Giggly? Geegly? Yigly?
What the fuc--yo, fogeddabouddit!
Okay, now I like Ben Affleck. His role in "Chasing Amy" made me actually root for the straight guy to get the gay girl in a lesbian movie, and that's saying something!
But Ben, honey, all right already! One lesbian conquest is enough in a guy's film career.
As for JLo, well hell, she put San Antonio and Selena on the map with that movie.
Her ass has just about set the standard for superior assitude. She's just fine is what she is.
But JLo as a lesbian enforcer? What?
Don't those Hollywood moguls know that JLo is one of the only women in the history of Hollywood that we gossipy lesbians DON'T speculate is a secret lesbo?
She is pure hetero!
I mean, she dated P Puffy Diddy Combs, for God's sake! No lesbian is gonna get near her spicy love taco after something like that!
Okay, and another thing.
Ben is a handsome guy. Don't be fucking up his hair with a big Pompadour job like that. We don't want to see that.
And don't be casting him as a dumb, thuggish wanna be. We know he's a smart, New Englander kind of preppy guy, and we don't believe he can be a dumb Jersey guy.
And the mob doesn't have girl enforcers, and especially not dyke girl enforcers who don't even look like dykes. Come on, you saw the Godfather movies, Wiseguys and Married to the Mob, did you see even one lesbian in any of them? No! Does Tony Soprano have any lesbians on his payroll? I think not.
For God's sake, people.
There's only one way I'll see Gigli.
It'd have to be at 3 am on HBO when the only other shows on cable are infomercials or religious broadcasts. I'll have to be in an altered state, passed out on the couch, and the batteries in the clicker will have to be dead.
Hey Melly! Wanna come watch it with me?
Sunday, August 03, 2003
The Secret Diary of Pu-Say Hussein
Saddam's Unusual Daughter
My sadness is great. Not because my sisters have left the country, may Allah remove their excess facial hair but because my father, may Allah get it over with and kill his nasty personage has snuck back to the palace and demanded my help.
Now that the evil american georgebush empire has distributed pictures of my father wearing different hair and mustache styles, may Allah cause elephantiasis in his shriveled scrotum, he has demanded I sew for him a burqa and turn him into a woman.
He said he admires evil american georgebush actress Joan Collins and wants to look like her. I asked him, "Father, perhaps you meant Joan Crawford?" and he smote me with his sidearm and said, "No you stupid woman camel vagina I mean Joan Collins and I want shoulder pads, too."
Even as a woman he is a very bad, bad man may Allah give me the 25 million in evil american georgebush reward dollars.
Luckily I have satellite TV and observe commercials. I shall call 1-800 CALL ATT and tell it to the evil american georgebush CIA.
Saddam's Unusual Daughter
My sadness is great. Not because my sisters have left the country, may Allah remove their excess facial hair but because my father, may Allah get it over with and kill his nasty personage has snuck back to the palace and demanded my help.
Now that the evil american georgebush empire has distributed pictures of my father wearing different hair and mustache styles, may Allah cause elephantiasis in his shriveled scrotum, he has demanded I sew for him a burqa and turn him into a woman.
He said he admires evil american georgebush actress Joan Collins and wants to look like her. I asked him, "Father, perhaps you meant Joan Crawford?" and he smote me with his sidearm and said, "No you stupid woman camel vagina I mean Joan Collins and I want shoulder pads, too."
Even as a woman he is a very bad, bad man may Allah give me the 25 million in evil american georgebush reward dollars.
Luckily I have satellite TV and observe commercials. I shall call 1-800 CALL ATT and tell it to the evil american georgebush CIA.
Greeters
I know Walmart employs old geezers to greet you as you walk in the door.
It's really kind of sweet and very much in keeping with their cornball image, so what the hell. I usually don't shop at Walmart anyway, but when I do I make it a point to try to get past them without eye contact.
What I cannot tolerate is the new grocery store down the street that uses greeters at the entrance and exit doors.
What is their function?
I don't need anyone to welcome me to a grocery store with a coupon page I just threw away from my mailbox that day, I just want to walk in, get my groceries and get out.
Next time the greeter smiles at me like a hyena and asks how I am doing today, I am tempted to tell her in excruciating detail what my morning glucose level was, whether I had a successful bowel movement that morning, how the cats were acting, then I'll finish it off with a chronological history of what I think went wrong with my last relationship.
Then I'll bitch a little about George W., just for good measure.
And the exit greeters *really* piss me off.
They always ask me, "Did you find everything you need?" and I always reply, "No. They didn't have any diet Canada Dry Ginger Ale."
They always get a mock concerned look on their face, then immediately look past me and ask the next stooge the same question.
They never have it in stock anymore, so why keep asking?
I'd rather they say, "Hey lady, we still don't have any Canada Dry diet Ginger Ale in stock because we really don't give a damn whether you are jonesing for it or not."
At least that would be honest.
I know Walmart employs old geezers to greet you as you walk in the door.
It's really kind of sweet and very much in keeping with their cornball image, so what the hell. I usually don't shop at Walmart anyway, but when I do I make it a point to try to get past them without eye contact.
What I cannot tolerate is the new grocery store down the street that uses greeters at the entrance and exit doors.
What is their function?
I don't need anyone to welcome me to a grocery store with a coupon page I just threw away from my mailbox that day, I just want to walk in, get my groceries and get out.
Next time the greeter smiles at me like a hyena and asks how I am doing today, I am tempted to tell her in excruciating detail what my morning glucose level was, whether I had a successful bowel movement that morning, how the cats were acting, then I'll finish it off with a chronological history of what I think went wrong with my last relationship.
Then I'll bitch a little about George W., just for good measure.
And the exit greeters *really* piss me off.
They always ask me, "Did you find everything you need?" and I always reply, "No. They didn't have any diet Canada Dry Ginger Ale."
They always get a mock concerned look on their face, then immediately look past me and ask the next stooge the same question.
They never have it in stock anymore, so why keep asking?
I'd rather they say, "Hey lady, we still don't have any Canada Dry diet Ginger Ale in stock because we really don't give a damn whether you are jonesing for it or not."
At least that would be honest.
The Fashion Segment
Last night my lovely companion and I went to the usual little wine and coffee house and observed a room full of oddly rumpled gay men, a fair number of college girls and a few wildcards thrown in just to confuse us.
What in the hell has happened to contemporary fashion?
Some of the women's blouses were so complicated I wouldn't know how to go about putting one on without printed instructions. "Insert Tab A into Slot B. Crisscross lateral straps under diagonal zipper, but over glittery applique."
And whose idea was it to bring back hip hugger pants? Those damn things should be sold only to licensed individuals who meet basic girth and inseam requirements.
Clue: If someone is 4'11" and a size 18, bell bottomed hiphuggers are not the ideal fashion choice.
Oh, and when will this capri thing end? I have never even considered wearing them. I mean, they are not shorts and not long pants, so what are they? I'll tell you what they are, they are first cousins of culottes and skorts.
I have four basic pant styles. Jeans, dressy pants, ratty shorts and ironed shorts.
I cannot imagine a scenario where capris, hip huggers or the dreaded cargo pants would enhance my appearance.
Yeah. Maybe I'll go visit TechFluid Chari in Florida and we can put on our capris and go where, to a NASCAR race?
What shoes go with those pants? Nothing in my collection, that's for damn sure.
Mom had it easy when she was 50. She wore house dresses, dusters and muumuus, because back then women in their 50's didn't have to worry about dating.
I was born too late.
I wish muumuus would come back into style. I could be confident and alluring wearing a bright, bold, Hawaiian print muumuu.
Last night my lovely companion and I went to the usual little wine and coffee house and observed a room full of oddly rumpled gay men, a fair number of college girls and a few wildcards thrown in just to confuse us.
What in the hell has happened to contemporary fashion?
Some of the women's blouses were so complicated I wouldn't know how to go about putting one on without printed instructions. "Insert Tab A into Slot B. Crisscross lateral straps under diagonal zipper, but over glittery applique."
And whose idea was it to bring back hip hugger pants? Those damn things should be sold only to licensed individuals who meet basic girth and inseam requirements.
Clue: If someone is 4'11" and a size 18, bell bottomed hiphuggers are not the ideal fashion choice.
Oh, and when will this capri thing end? I have never even considered wearing them. I mean, they are not shorts and not long pants, so what are they? I'll tell you what they are, they are first cousins of culottes and skorts.
I have four basic pant styles. Jeans, dressy pants, ratty shorts and ironed shorts.
I cannot imagine a scenario where capris, hip huggers or the dreaded cargo pants would enhance my appearance.
Yeah. Maybe I'll go visit TechFluid Chari in Florida and we can put on our capris and go where, to a NASCAR race?
What shoes go with those pants? Nothing in my collection, that's for damn sure.
Mom had it easy when she was 50. She wore house dresses, dusters and muumuus, because back then women in their 50's didn't have to worry about dating.
I was born too late.
I wish muumuus would come back into style. I could be confident and alluring wearing a bright, bold, Hawaiian print muumuu.
Saturday, August 02, 2003
The Winds of Change
This personal trainer shit might be working.
I have dropped six pounds since I started 11 days ago, but my clothes are a lot looser than six pounds would indicate. Yay for muscle!
Also, I think I am about done pining away for my recently-former-on-again-off-again girlfriend.
The woman was truly wonderful but she had for me what I call motorboat love:
She loved me but but but but but but but but but...
Well.
I may not have had enough of her butt, but I have had enough of her buts.
Hey, you love, you risk, sometimes you lose.
She taught me a lot. Most of all, she taught me that one really can have an honorable breakup without rancor, venomous comments or seething leftover resentments.
Last time I saw her, we kissed good-bye so hard I think I may have tasted blood.
Hey, if it's gonna be a last kiss, may as well make it memorable, right?
On to Willie's House of Pain.
This personal trainer shit might be working.
I have dropped six pounds since I started 11 days ago, but my clothes are a lot looser than six pounds would indicate. Yay for muscle!
Also, I think I am about done pining away for my recently-former-on-again-off-again girlfriend.
The woman was truly wonderful but she had for me what I call motorboat love:
She loved me but but but but but but but but but...
Well.
I may not have had enough of her butt, but I have had enough of her buts.
Hey, you love, you risk, sometimes you lose.
She taught me a lot. Most of all, she taught me that one really can have an honorable breakup without rancor, venomous comments or seething leftover resentments.
Last time I saw her, we kissed good-bye so hard I think I may have tasted blood.
Hey, if it's gonna be a last kiss, may as well make it memorable, right?
On to Willie's House of Pain.
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