Friday, March 29, 2002

Hippety Hopping Down the Vegas Strip

Here's wishing everyone a happy holiday and letting you know I'll be in Las Vegas from Saturday till Tuesday, so there will be no weekend blogging for me.
After my tirade on the Catholic church, I think a casino will be a better place for me to spend Easter Sunday, at least there I will know where my money is going.
Be safe and enjoy the holiday, everyone.
See you next week.
Oprah and the Pedophile Catholic Priests

Oprah's show yesterday dealt with the scandalous news about the rampant pedophilia in the Catholic church among its priests.
Not only is the church rife with pervert child molesters, the bishops and archbishops have been caught transferring these evil bastards to other parishes once they get caught. Some have been transferred to six or more different parishes to hide their filthy behavior.
That has been the common solution, as opposed to defrocking the criminals and reporting them to the police for the crimes they committed.
The Catholic church has been hemorrhaging money in the millions to settle hundreds of lawsuits brought by adults who were molested by priests as children.
Still the Catholic church refuses to hand over records detailing what measures if any were taken against priests caught molesting children.
The Vatican has pretty much told the U.S. diocese leaders they were on their own as far as coughing up the legal fees and settlement dough.
As I mentioned, I attended a Catholic mass recently and found myself spiritually uncomfortable watching the slightly effeminate priest and listening to his tales of teaching second graders in catechism school.
I just sort of assumed he was a pedophile and the whole thing made me sick.
Not all pedophile priests are gay. Some molest little girls and teen girls with the same enthusiasm as their gay brethren.
It's not a gay or straight issue, it's a child molestation issue.
It's exposing children to these phony messengers of God, only to have them shatter their innocence in the name of the Lord.
When I was little, priests and nuns were thought to have some special, supernatural connection to God. We were taught to admire them and trust in their piety.
Well, now I am an adult and I see the Catholic church as a haven for pedophiles, gay men and lesbians who are too cowardly to live their sexual lives honestly and choose instead to hide behind Jesus Christ and a mess of phony, meaningless vows.
Pope John Paul is out of it. The church is more hypocritical than the democrats and republicans combined.
When I saw the collection plates being passed at mass last week, all I could think about was how much of that money was going to be spent on settling child molestation lawsuits out of court and the church maintaining their filthy little secrets. I didn't contribute.
The Catholic church needs to polygraph all existing priests to screen for child molesters, ordain women as priests and stop the stupid celibacy requirement so they can attract some normal clergy and weed out these miserable kiddy fuckers.

Wednesday, March 27, 2002

Woe is Me

I am too shook up to blog much today. The news about Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake possibly breaking up has my stomach tied in knots.
How can it be? They were Mousketeers together, for God's sake!
I am just glad she knew to save her virginity so she can still wear a white gown when her Prince Charming does come along.
Just kidding.
I was only pretending to give a damn about these two little zygotes.
In fact, the media has been spending too much time lately talking about crap like this.
I mean, was it me or did the Academy Award hype seem to last for-fucking-ever this year? Even with all the hype, this years Oscars scored the worst Neilsen ratings in recent history.
And one more thing.
How is Tom Green allowed to breathe the same air as the rest of us? I saw him on Conan O'Brien's show last night and I wanted to kick in the TV screen.
He reminds me of a 4 year old just discovering the shock value of playing with his own doodoo. What was Drew Barrymore thinking?
The worst part about Tom Green is most people don't realize he's Canadian and they think America produced this attention seeking dimwit. Well, I am here to tell you, he's a Canuck. Yep, just like Jim Carrey.
So don't blame the USA for these knuckleheads, eh?

Tuesday, March 26, 2002

And the Prizes Go To:

The results of my Begging for Reblogs Contest are in, and in a three-way tie are Catherine, Kelly and Zed.
Zed gets prizes from me every day, so I am disqualifying her. Sorry, baby.
That leaves Catherine (blog: Rollercoaster Life) and Kelly (blog: Welcome to My Life) sharing the Grand Prize, a whole blog of haiku dedicated to them. So here goes...

I like Catherine
She's as nutty as I am
That's saying something

Kelly, sweet cupcake
So earnest, eager to learn
But hates to study

Catherine's blogs are
Sometimes very funny or
Sometimes wayyy out there

Kelly plus Kelly
It's easy to shop for them
Towels with K's on them

Like cats or Baptists
Catherine likes to fool around
You just can't catch her

Kel loves girl music
Too bad she's so young and missed
Janis Joplin's act

Catherine is sweet
Cute like a stuffed animal
A bipolar bear!

Kelly loves Oscars
They make her Blockbuster gig
Suck that much harder

Both give good reblog
But you have to give them some too
Lest they bail on you!

Monday, March 25, 2002

Pondering the words "I Love You."

Okay, say you think you have found the right woman (or man, whatever).
The trouble is, in this modern Internet age, the right woman might live far away and you've yet to meet in the flesh. talk every day, write letters, have fights, settle them, exchange intimacies, share personal details, triumphs, failures, the works. It all feels good and it all seems to work well. It starts to feel like love.
So when, pray tell, does one know when attraction and infatuation have transcended into love? When is the right time to say the words?
Zed and I had been discussing it all day, and tonight I just hauled off and told her I was falling in love with her.
It felt like a boulder came off my chest because the feelings were getting so strong I was running out of euphemisms to express the way I felt. She responded perfectly and as usual, made me feel safe and secure in saying what I felt.
A friend and I were talking recently about the wisdom in saying I love you, because one never knows when they'll be hit by a truck or just keel over without warning.
It's risky to say the words to a new lover because often the words are accompanied by increased expectations and other assorted pains in the ass.
But sometimes a woman just has to say it and be willing to accept whatever reaction she gets. When you've made the right decision, the reaction will be a good one.
Nothing on Earth feels better than falling in love, and when you've chosen the right person, you'll know it the minute those words leave your mouth.
Speaking of Funerals...

After attending someone's funeraI, I often ponder the music I want played at mine.
I want it to reflect who I was as a person, and at the same time shock the mourners into laughing rather than crying at my demise.

Here are some possibilities:

•It's Raining Men- the Weathergirls. Everyone at the funeral will know that I was not into men, but I was into dancing to this gay anthem, so the irony will be delicious.
•Obla di Obla da- The Beatles. Life goes on - braaaa!
•Gimme Shelter- The Rolling Stones. Unless I am killed by a gunshot wound ("it's just a shot away"), this song has an eerie sort of quality I think would lend itself nicely to a funeral.
•Girls Just Wanna Have Fun- Cindy Lauper. This one speaks for itself.
•And When I Die- Laura Nyro. How cool is this song?
•Why?- Annie Lennox. A small act of atonement for my wicked sins.
•Nessun Dorma -from the opera Turandot. Hey, may as well remind the mourners I had a classic side...besides I like the "nobody sleeps tonight" theme.
•I Still Haven't Found What I'm looking For. U2 or The Chimes version. A little existential angst always adds to the gaiety of a funeral.
and finally:
"In Trutino" from Carmina Burana. This aria has the virginal maiden pondering a life of piety and chastity versus the pleasures of the flesh. She chooses the latter.
Et voila, cest moi!
What songs do you want at your funeral?
Whoa, oh, Domino

A friend of mine told me when she and her last lover (we'll call Jeannie) first got together, Jeannie admitted to her she was still hung up on *her* last lover (who we'll call Mary), but that she'd try to get over her as the new relationship progressed.
Sure enough, Mary caught wind of Jeannie's wonderful new relationship and wanted her back.
So Jeannie reluctantly told my friend she had to go back to Mary, or she'd die wondering.
Now Jeannie is back with Mary, who is stingy with affection, sex and time.
So Jeannie frequently calls, writes or IM's my friend, and they often slip past the boundaries of platonia and exchange erotic and seductive thoughts about each other.
This results in a lose-lose-lose situation for all parties, but it's a common lesbian scenario.
The thing is, we lesbians seem to accept stale crumbs when we deserve an entirely new cake.
My ex-lover was the same way as Jeannie. She just couldn't get past her attachment to her former lover (as beastly as she was) and in the end, she returned to her.
It would have been easier at the time for me to hang in there, continue to speak with my ex and hope she'd realize the error of her ways, but the fact was I wasn't willing to take her crumbs, knowing her Neanderthal ex was still pawing her at every opportunity.
It was hard to stay away. I still loved her. I was miserable for many weeks without contact, but then a miracle happened.
Because I was willing to sacrifice immediate need for what I felt I truly deserved and wanted, I met Zed and have been enormously happy ever since.
Zed was willing to tolerate the tail end of my former relationship woes. She listened without judgment, often to the same story day after day. Her patience was soothing and endearing.
Then one day I realized I was over my ex, and if I was given the opportunity to go back to her, I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't trade Zed for anyone.
I guess I am pontificating here, but my point is if we stay true to our real desires and are willing to suffer in the void, the Universe will provide us what we truly need.
Having walked in my friend's shoes, I don't judge the wisdom of her choice to remain in contact with Jeannie.
But I have reminded her that when she meets someone new, she will become Jeannie and Jeannie will likely become Mary. And the domino effect continues...

Saturday, March 23, 2002

Test of Faith? No, a Test of Patience

My Uncle Al died in December in Southern California, so one of my aunts or someone arranged for a Mass for him this afternoon in San Antonio.
I am a lapsed Catholic.
Well, make that WAY lapsed, as I refused to be confirmed at age 12 because I didn't like their stance on birth control, having to eat fish sticks on Friday and male-only priests.
So, my family tricked me into going today, but this mass for my uncle was not a funeral mass at all, it was just this incredibly long, confusing, sort of Palm Saturday thing.
They wanted us to stand for 45 minutes while they read to each other about who ratted out Jesus and sold him for 30 pieces of silver (in Canadian money that's about 12 bucks).
I mean, I think Jesus existed, but to me he's just one of many messengers of God, not any less or greater than the Goddess, Vishnu or the rest of that holy crowd.
The Catholic church, except for it's really cool religious gear, is not a faith I would choose to follow.
I mean, they are sexist, way too many of the priests are perverts or pedophiles, they won't let women serve as priests, they talk too much, they are judgmental, and all that kneeling and standing and up and down stuff is just plain uncomfortable.
Besides, I am a queer so I am condemned to Hell in their eyes anyway.
I had a bunch of Catholic first cousins at the mass today, and many were watching me sit when I should stand, watching me fail to recite whatever it was I was supposed to say, watching me give my brother and sister the hen eye for tricking me into going, and in general looking at me like I was tweaking the nipples on the Jesus statue.
I had a bit of a religious epiphany today.
I decided I am not going to any more Catholic services except for weddings and funerals-REAL funerals, not some hokey thing like today where they just mentioned my uncle's name in passing, along with a few other recently departed souls.
After the 90 minutes of monotony, my family returned to my house. I told them all if they outlived me I did NOT want a Catholic funeral, and if they gave me one I'd haunt them.
I mean, seriously, if I want a gay clergyman praying over my dead body, I'll choose one brave enough to be honest about it.

Friday, March 22, 2002

Will Blog for Comments

Okay, I am spoiled and I like reblog comments.
I know it's hard sometimes.
I read other people's blogs and it's hard to reply to someone who writes something like,
"I got a haircut today and am going to cut my dog's toenails later."
I have thought about making a controversial post, something politically incorrect like, "Why the fuck would anyone want to cover their body and wear a veil over their head and face and walk around in New York these days?"
But then Suzy would get on my ass about it.
Then I thought about saying they should host the next season of "Survivor" in Los Angeles and do challenges like walking in downtown Inglewood alone at midnight wearing a diamond bezel Rolex and holding a $500 CD boombox with loud Garth Brooks music playing. But then someone might call me a redneck Texas bitch.
I could write about my wonderful, sexy Zed but basically nobody wants to read that kinda stuff, not even her.
So I will have to resort to bribery.
Yes, the most frequent reblogger will receive a grand prize of ...well, something, I don't know what, but it'll be cool.

Thursday, March 21, 2002

Sure, an' She's a Shaman, too

Seems TV psychic Miss Cleo, the famed Jamaican soothsayer, was born in Southern California. Youree Dell Harris, aka Miss Cleo, was born on August 13, 1962 at the L.A. County hospital.
So for $5 a minute, suckers called her psychic network and heard their fortunes told, often read verbatim from books like "Tarot Made Easy." The author of that book is suing Miss Cleo's outfit for stealing her words, and the state of Florida is also after her and her backers for fraud.
Hey I think I can be a psychic, too.
I predict for Miss Cleo darker days ahead.

Tuesday, March 19, 2002

I can no longer be silent

Liza Minnelli recently married some guy named Jim Gest, and I have to ask- what in the hell is up with that guy?
He looks like he's either carved out of wax or was the recipient of some discount plastic surgery in a back room somewhere in Tijuana.
Michael Jackson is his best friend, and there is an eerie similarity in their blank expressions. I'm not saying either is gay, but I wouldn't say either is a regular old heterosexual, either.
Liza, Liza, Liza, what have you done?
Colin Quinn

If you have a sense of humor and the truth doesn't bother you, check out Colin Quinn's new show on NBA Monday nights.
He's brave enough to stomp over all the politically correct eggshells and say what's on his mind.
Have you seen it yet? What did you think?

Monday, March 18, 2002

Intolerance: Theirs and Mine

I watched both the Matthew Shepard Story and The Laramie Project this past week and the whole sickening mess made me want to scream all over again.
Some people of Laramie were saying things like 'that didn't happen in Laramie, they didn't raise their kids to be that way,' then they'd turn around and say something homophobic.
To think that in another small town, Wichita, Kansas, a homophobe by the name of "Reverend" Jim Phelps has his www 'God Hates Fags' ministry and gets away with it.
Here's what his webpage has to say about Shepard:

>>>Matthew Shepard has been in hell for 1253 days. Deal with it! All else is trivial and unimportant. All the fag caterwauling, candlelight vigils, court orders, etc., can't buy Matt one drop of water to cool his tongue.<<<

Phelps and some of his Neanderthal followers actually made the trip to Laramie to protest at Shepard's funeral. How Christian is that, holding GOD HATES FAGS and THANK GOD FOR AIDS signs at a murdered boy's funeral? And why didn't the "tolerant" Laramie cops arrest these fuckheads for disturbing the peace?

Phelps has a church in Wichita called Westboro Baptist.
That means the Southern Baptist Federation or whatever they call themselves allow him to foment such hatred and bigotry from the pulpit as if it's all right.
They say there's a thin line between love and hate.
I am intolerant of intolerance, but if someone bombed Phelp's church I sure as hell wouldn't be donating to the rebuilding fund.
I've been to Wichita and it's a rather flat little town, with what seem like normal people, friendly enough people, but why they allow this church of hatred and it's Satanic minister to preach his venom is beyond me.
If you are feeling bored and want to get your blood pumping, go to Phelp's website and see for yourself what true evil and hatred look like.

Sunday, March 17, 2002

Lesbian Greeting Cards You Won't See

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I slept with your sister
She's better than you

Your eyes are like sapphires
You skin is like dew
I just wish your big dog
Didn't have to sleep with you

Baby, my Baby
You're so sweet and decent
Of all of my lovers
You are the most recent

I love you so deeply
The whole world can see
But I gotta go now
It's not you, it's me!

Please don't yell at me
And make me duck for cover
That wasn't a woman you saw me with
That was merely my ex lover

I love being with you
You make my heart hum
And on our next outing
Can my ex lover come?

Your touch thrills me so
You voice gives me chills
But babe I can't handle
That twelve inch dildo

You're not a pervert
Nor are you a letch
But you do tend to act
A bit like Anne Heche

I care for you so
And no one can stop me
But once in a while
You'll just have to top me

Saturday, March 16, 2002

Blue Mountain's Gotta be Kidding

I just signed on to Blue Mountain to send Zed a corny St. Patricks Day card (since they have the corniest cards on Earth) and it turns out they are now CHARGING twelve bucks a year for that crap. As if!

What's your favorite e-card site? Mine are:
All free- all clever.
When Normalcy Becomes an Issue

Gee, I hate to admit this but my life has become so 'normal' I am without my usual angst-powered edge that fuels my bloggy tirades.
Work is good, my cats are behaving, I have no financial worries to speak of and my girlfriend is wonderful.
I have a vacation to Vegas coming up in two weeks, my lawn is mowed, my car is washed, and I feel healthy and energetic.
This must be just a little like how Alanis Morrissette felt when her angst-ridden album, "Jagged Little Pill" netted her more than 20 million bucks. Not a lot to bitch about when you're 23 and made your age in millions that year.
So now I must blather about the mundane.
Today I might go to the nursery and buy some herbs to repot in my empty planters, what with my former plants being devastated by two nights of below-freezing weather.
I found out rosemary, Greek oregano and garlic chives can survive any weather conditions or draught. It's that damned basil that's sensitive, and of course that's my favorite to cook with.
Basil is tricky to buy because growers have bastardized it into so many awful flavors now. Lemon basil, chocolate basil, purple basil, baby leaf basil and so on all taste crappy in pesto. Trust me on this.

Friday, March 15, 2002

Insane Weather

Today in Texas it climbed up to 80 degrees.
By afternoon, my house was stuffy so I turned on the air conditioning.
Then I took a nap in the cool comfort.
I was awakened by the heating, turning on to warm what the AC had done.
Texas in March is like living in some crazy, parallel universe.
I just don't get it.

Thursday, March 14, 2002


Nice job, U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service, on delivering two of the 9/11 terrorists' student visas to the Florida flight school they attended. Not only that, they were delivered six months AFTER these jerks were already dead.
Good to see the INS is on the job, and more vigilant than ever about not granting terrorists visas.

Andrea Yates the baby killer is fucking insane. She needs a life sentence in a mental hospital, not life in prison and not on death row. Good luck. Harris County leads the state in executions, and for Texas, that's saying something.

Rosie O'Donnell timed her coming out with the furor in Florida about gays not being able to adopt kids. I think she chose a good time and a great cause. More power to her. If you can, go to and send that idiot Governor Jeb Bush a letter.

Last night's celebrity boxing was the worst of sensationalized trash TV, so of course I wanted to watch it. Danny Partridge kicked Greg Brady's ass, Todd Bridges kicked Vanilla Ice's ass and Tonya Harding beat up Paula Jones pretty good. Paula still looks like an aardvark, even with the nose job.

Dubya Bush said, "We will deal with Iraq" in a menacing tone last night.
Sure, Dubya, like you have "dealt with" bin Laden? I realize Bush probably has ADD, but he really should finish one thing before he starts another.
I am convinced this war is just a way to line the pockets of Dubya's largest campaign contributors from the American military industrial complex.
They have had six months and a billion dollars a day to handle this mess and there is zero to show for it. Dubya should do what his daddy should have done to Barbara 50+ years ago- PULL OUT.

Alpha Dog Got the Boot

Last night on Survivor, Hunter Ellis, the macho pilot/alpha dog of the crappy Maraamou tribe got kicked off. I guess all his machismo leadership which led to three failures at the immunity trials was enough for the five remaining stragglers in his tribe to get fed up and get rid of him. Score one for those of us who aren't strong, white, blue eyed Waspy males.
Now the Maraamou tribe is left with Gina the nature guide who is gorgeous unless she talks, Rob the Tony Danza clone from Massachusetts, Sarah the lazy girl, Sean the you pickin' on me cause I am black teacher from Harlem, and Vecepia the level headed and calm Maya Angelou wannabe.
In other TV news, Zed was kind enough to indulge me and watch the celebrity boxing match with me last night. Tonya Harding beat up Paula Jones, so that was nice.
I think my taste in TV caused my dear Zed to downgrade me about 50 points in her estimation of my intellect.

Wednesday, March 13, 2002


I am hinky about blogging because I get booted offline so much when I try.
I had a very nice piece I wrote on the Survivor series that I have tried to post literally dozens of times since last week. It's aggravating.
What's also aggravating is the 80 degree temp today. I am sweating here!
I guess winter is over in Texas for sure now.
Old Navy is featuring those hideous cargo pants and capris for Spring. I'd rather die than wear cargo pants... and capris- well, they're totally out of the question.
I recently found some rayon pants with some kind of wood fiber added to them. They are soft, smooth and comfortable and I think they may become my new uniform.
What will your uniform be for spring?

Tuesday, March 12, 2002

Suspect in Reporter's Kidnapping Threatens U.S.

.c The Associated Press

KARACHI, Pakistan (AP) - The defiant, alleged mastermind of the kidnap-slaying of Wall Street Journal correspondent Daniel Pearl warned Tuesday that Americans will suffer if he is sent to the United States, shouting to bystanders after a court appearance that ''America will be finished soon.''>>>

Does this chap anyone else's hide besides me?
Six months later and still we have to tolerate threats.
I hope they do extradite the bastard. These clowns are mouthier than teenage WWF wrestling fans.

Days Later and Still Shakey

My blogger only seems to be able to publish little tiny blogs.
Sorry for the dearth of meaty ones, I am still alive and breathing and will be back strong as soon as blogger gets it's act together.

Sunday, March 10, 2002

So glad to see the Enron executives have gotten jobs running Blogger and Site meter.
Everything is still fucked up.
Things were fine, then they had to tinker.
Someone please wake me when they get their acts together.

Saturday, March 09, 2002

Trouble Blogging?

Yesterday my system crashed everytime I tried to post a blog. Today I had to sign in using my name and password, and my site meter is blank.
Anyone else having problems?

Thursday, March 07, 2002

Funky, Funky, Funk.

To blog or not to blog–
Whether t'would be nobler to keep my funk to myself, or share it with my twelve readers who count on me for regular pithy yammerings.
Oh, what the hell, I'll blog.
First of all, a splinter is no big deal, unless it's a catnip splinter that has remained lodged deep in the fold of my right index finger for three days now.
I am tired of yelping every time I bend my finger, and I can't find the little bastard with even the sharpest needle.
Second of all, my stooge repairman Robert the Liar never did show up yesterday and still hasn't called.
I wish I could blame it on drugs or some other external thing, alas, Robert is just a lazy, irresponsible lout who has been this way since he used to mow my lawn at age 12. Trouble is, he's mechanically gifted and can fix anything for about 10 dollars.
Finally, my car is back in the shop a week after I shelled out 1,500 bucks for Paul the Mechanic to fix or replace everything but the drivetrain and engine block.
The car was originally leaving tiny dots of oil on my driveway.
After repairs to things called gaskets and head seals and drum heads and flabber gussets and rocker covers and whatever other term he could coin, my car came home and started leaving big ass driveway stains the size of small pizzas. I think it's oil, but I am not going to hunker down and touch whatever it is.
Paul said I could easily drive the car to Canada if I wanted when I last picked it up.
I am glad I didn't try- I would have been shooting fire out of the exhaust pipes somewhere in Deliverance Country and having to trust some toothless guy named Joe Dick or Darryl to fix it.
I hate being without a car. I HATE IT.
Even as I write, I am sure crack addicts and burglars have driven by my house, seen no car in the driveway and have earmarked my home for a late night break-in.
Kids are using my oily driveway as a skateboard track.
Dogs are stopping to deposit steaming piles of crap on my lawn. Even they know a driveway without a car designates a safe shitting-spot.
Kitchen staples deplete exponentially when they realize there is no car to bring home more. I am out of essentials like Cokes, mineral water, fruit and fresh vegetables.
Oh, I could walk, except it's drizzling outside and threatening to rain. Plus my strong right hand is injured with the likely poisonous catnip shrapnel, so carrying bags could be painful.
Even if I did walk and returned home damp, I couldn't use my brand new dryer to dry my clothes because Robert the Liar flaked out on me. If I hung my wet clothes somewhere to air dry, my kitten James would jump up, pull them to the floor and leave kitty fuzz all over them.
I can't even shake my fist at the sky because, you know, the splinter.

Wednesday, March 06, 2002


Oh, sad news. Seems Rosanne and her husband what's his name are splitting up after seven years of marriage. Gee, they seemed so happy. She wants sole custody of their son Buck, which seems fair since the husband will no doubt be making off with several of her other bucks.
Also splitting up are Edward James Olmos and Lorraine Bracco. I didn't know they were married to each other.

Good news: Gary Condit was defeated in his reelection bid. Good. One less scumbag in Congress.
Bad news: My car is leaking oil again, after paying my slowpoke mechanic Paul a zillion dollars to fix it. I took it in with a few drops leaking, now I am seeing 10" blobs on my driveway.
More bad news: Yesterday I got a catnip splinter in my finger and now it's infected. It's right where my index finger bends and I am not sure if I got it out. Wahhh.
Even more: My dryer only blows cold air so I have someone coming out today to fix it.
Bad things come in threes, right?
I am counting the splinter, in that case.

Tuesday, March 05, 2002

Grab Bag

I have nothing to pontificate about at length, so today's blog will be odds and ends I have been meaning to wedge in.

• My life is complete again now that "Six Feet Under" and "Survivor" are back on TV. I just love these shows and won't even answer the phone when they are on.
• When I was in Yokohama, Japan in Chinatown, they sell fabulous foods out of a little row of stands. Trouble is, in Japan it's considered uncouth to eat outdoors, standing up.
So we got plenty of snotty, sidelong glances from passers by.
• Monica Lewinsky was in a two-hour special Sunday night on HBO. She sat alone on a stage and fielded questions. She's very pretty, articulate and credible. I feel sorry for her, and had I been a 21-year-old intern at the time and had Hillary hit on me, I would have gone for it.
• Yesterday, I won $20 on a scratch-off lotto ticket.
• James my kitten is going through adolescence now, and he doesn't want to be petted and held as much as he did when he was a toddler. He's about the size of an adult female puma now and he still thinks sitting on my shoulders while I am at the computer is humorous.
• My sister and her lover and I are taking my other sister (a straight-laced, 4.0 student who was just graduated from Chinese Medical School) to Las Vegas at the end of the month to celebrate her achievements. She's never been to Vegas and I am in charge of blowing the starch out of her J. Peterman linen shirts.
• After three days of eating salmon, a friend of mine invited me out to eat tonight because she has a gift certificate to...Red Lobster. Ugh, I hope I don't get mercury poisoning from too much seafood.
• Does anyone actually like the Olive Garden?
• My backyard is covered in kudzu, a fast growing, short-rooted weed that should be in Mississippi, where it belongs. I am going to have my yardman get rid of it, I can't stand the thought of having it stick to my pants and take root.
• I am still laughing at Anne Heche naming her baby Homer Heche Laffoon.
• I finally made an appointment with my GYN oncologist for my six-month checkup. Actually, I am five months late in making the appointment, but I am chicken, so sue me.
April will mark a year of being cancer-free. So fuck you, cancer.
• Did you know panty liners were designed for a size 6? Not size 6 panties, I mean size 6 pants. Absurd! The other day I saw black panty liners in the store. How strange was that?
• A friend of mine just lost her second job in three months. These are not petty jobs, these are jobs that pay in the mid 60's. I think she's addicted to drugs and it's fucking up her performance, but I am not going to stick my head in that lion's mouth.

I guess that's it for now. Comments are welcome, as always.
What Nerve.

Gary Condit is up for reelection in the California primary today.
I can't believe his gall.
Even if he *only had an affair* with 23-year-old Chandra Levy as he admitted to the police, he's still too sickening to hold office.
That smarmy, forced smile, that reedy voice, those evil eyes, that bad blow and go hair-do, who wants to see this slimy clown for another four years?
His campaign gibberish hit new lows in pandering to the voters.
He said reelecting him was the only way to keep Chandra Levy's disappearance an open investigation.
He's like O.J. Simpson. You just know he did it, but he got away with it.
If the voters in his district return him to office, they'll be getting what they deserve.

Sunday, March 03, 2002

Bulk Bonanza!

Yesterday my ex Cris and I went to Sam's Club to try out the new membership she gave me. I hadn't been in a Sam's Club for years and was re-amazed at all the big-ass stuff they sell.
I live alone and don't have much use for a gallon of martini olives or potato chips packaged in something the size of a cement bag, but I was still amused by the elephantine jars, boxes, bags and bottles of edible stuff.
As we shopped, it was free sample day.
We tried the whipped cream cake, tiny cheeseburgers, three kinds of sausage, rotisserie chicken, cinnamon rolls, cream puffs, meatballs, breakfast cereal, and I forget what else. I felt like a real shlub after eating all that shmutz.
For foreigners who criticize Americans about their despicable consumer greed, this is the place to illustrate it. Perhaps we should invite them over and share from our 50 pound bags of coffee and our 36-count jumbo cinnamon rolls.
Cris bought a lovely pork loin roast about three feet long and 25 inches in diameter. She's going to quarter it and make several hundred dinners from it.
I bought a sensational 2-foot-long, boned and skinned salmon filet, slathered it with maple champagne mustard and roasted it last night for dinner. Alas, my dinner guest hates fish. I am left with 18 inches of very nice roasted salmon, which I imagine I'll be loathing by Wednesday.
I also came away with an AT&T 1,000 minute phone card, which Zed and I can burn up in an afternoon. We can talk while I drink from the keg of Ocean Spray cranberry grape juice I got for five bucks.

Friday, March 01, 2002

Famous Reblog Quotes Through the Ages

"Our life is frittered away by Blogging. Reblog, Reblog, simplify."
-Henry David Thoreau

"The struggle to receive reblogs will make a human heart swell. Sisyphus must never have gotten reblogged." -Albert Camus

"That's one small blog for man, and one giant leap for rebloggers."
-Neil A. Armstrong

"Just as the sweet-apple reddens on a high branch, high on the highest, and the rebloggers missed it, or rather did not miss it, but dared not reach it."

"I blog, and so to bed, with nary a reblog."
-Samuel Pepys

"J'y suis, blogging, j'y reste, sans reblogs."
(Here I am, blogging, and here I stay, without reblogs)
-Marshal MacMahon

"The Soul selects her own blog topics
Then-- shuts the door--
To her divine Rebloggers--
Present no more."
-Emily Dickinson

"Sir, more than kisses, reblogs mingle souls."
-John Donne
Rosie O'Donnell's Gay???

Gee, what a shock!
Finally, Rosie comes clean and maybe now we can expect some adult humor again instead of all the gushy mommy and kiddy crap she's been selling on TV all these years.
I remember her standup days when she was edgy and funny instead of being "the queen of nice." Glad to see she's going back to her more entertaining persona.
The lesbian celebrity closet has nearly been emptied.
Melissa Etheridge, Ellen DeGeneris, k.d. lang, Portia DeRossi, now Rosie O'Donnell. That just leaves Jodie Foster for the jackpot bonus round.
Well, there is Paula Poundstone, but I'd just as soon she stay in the closet, what with her sordid life and those hideous, tertiary colored suits and ties she wears.
We queers did have to return Julie Cypher and Anne Heche to the straight community, but one was a tramp and the other a lunatic, so I'd say we were lucky to lose them.
I think I can come to like Rosie again now that she's not talking about wanting to hump Tom Cruise. I always thought that was the most ridiculous ruse, especially with the rumors he was gay.
For the record, I don't think he's gay. I think he's just a tiny little guy with greasy hair, and nowhere fashionable enough to be a gay man.
Anyway, I am glad Rosie decided to come out and I think she had her own legitimate reasons for doing it in her own time, on her own terms.
Gay activists who rant and rave about celebrities not coming out don't seem to get that it's none of their fucking business when and if someone opts to do that. I think it's good to see many gay activists supporting Rosie's timing of her queer debut, and I applaud them for it.
Not to flip-flop, but I think we need to see more male celebrities opening the closet door now that the women have blazed a trail. We have Elton John, George Michael and Boy George, but aren't there any American queens in Hollywood?
Who do you think might be gay in Hollywood? Kevin Spacey is my first suspect. Oh, and I have my doubts about Ricky Martin, too. And Louie Anderson...and maybe even Ross the Intern.