Wednesday, July 31, 2002

Reporter's Tourette's Syndrome

Every reporter I have ever known cusses like Crazy Tracy with PMS, and a rock in her shoe, on a hot day.
It's because we have to toe the line when we write and it causes pent up pressure.
I worked with this young reporter who looked like a Mormon girl, fresh from doing genealogy research at the Norman Mailer Tabernacle library.
She was called Bridget.
Once she was sent to cover a volunteer fireman's picnic, where somebody's hot catalytic converter started a grass fire and fried about 12 volunteers' cars and trucks.
She came back to the newsroom and we gathered around her after she filed her story, all of us chuckling at the irony of these rural firemen's vehicles catching fire.
"How was it, Bridget?" I asked.
"Man, it was great! They had chicken and brisket and ribs and potato salad and the works." (Reporters are notorious food scroungers)
"Yeah, pretty good food?" I asked.
"Hell, yeah. Those firemen are some partying-down motherfuckers," she replied.
"Is that how you referred to them in your story?"
Bridget smiled and said, " No, I called them hearty picnickers."

In the newsroom, if we had to pee, we had to totally log off our computers, lest a colleague would fuck with our stories.
Once I was filing a weather story and dashed off to pee without logging off.
I came back to read, "Meteorologist John Haskins said there was a chance in South Texas on Saturday for hail the size of canned hams."
Another reporter ran off to pee and I changed his religion column to read, "Archbishop Patrick Flores said, 'Things would go a lot better around here if we just got horny little boys assigned to us to begin with.'"

The best part was when the hapless reporter didn't notice the switch, but the city desk editor did. "What in the fucking shit is this piece of libelous horse crap, you pea-brained son of a bitch?"

I miss those days.
Turns Out They Were Crooked

"NEW YORK (July 31) -- A reputed Russian crime boss was arrested Wednesday on charges he fixed two figure skating events at the Salt Lake City Games by arranging a vote-swapping deal, yet another bizarre twist in a scandal that has tainted the sport."

I knew those judges were crooked. Now they need to strip those Russian figure skaters of their medals and disqualify all Russian judges in the next Olympics. And throw in those Frenchies, too.

Cheating bastards.
When the Moon is in the Seventh House...

My friend Tricia is having her 35th birthday party this Saturday night.
She was born in 1967 so she's having, "A Summer of Love" themed party.
We are supposed to dress in 60's clothes...
Let's see, back then, I wore faded denim shirts and ripped jeans with paint all over them.
Thirty-five years later, I still wear faded denim shirts and ripped jeans with paint all over them, only lots larger now.
An outdoor party in August wearing jeans? I don't think so.
Back then, I had long, wavy Janis Joplin hair. Too hot for that now, too, so a wig is out.
She told me that the party wouldn't be "truly authentic," because her lover's sister was bringing her cop boyfriend as a date, and someone else invited an assistant district attorney.
Jesus, what kind of 60's party is this going to be?
I think I will wear a white short sleeved cotton shirt with a pocket protector and some black pants and go as Ralph Nader. I'll just keep bitching about the safety records of Chevy Corvairs all night.
God knows I'm not going to be dropping acid or blowing any weed with a bunch of law enforcement people around. Not that I would, but I do like having the damn option.

Tuesday, July 30, 2002

Application: Be My New Girlfriend

Real Name:
City and State:
Real Age:

1. Is your ex still underfoot? If so, why?
2. Do you have a job or income source?
3. Just how crazy are you? What meds are you on?
4. How many dogs do you have? Do they sleep with you?
5. How many cats do you have? Do they sleep with you?
6. You don't have any snakes, reptiles or other creepy pets, do you?
7. Has anyone ever accused you of stalking them?
8. Do you have all your fingers, toes, feet, arms and stuff?
9. Do your eyes focus in the same direction?
10. You don't make "finger quotes," do you?
11. What sign are you?
12. Do your subjects and verbs agree?
13. Do you know how to use spellcheck?
14. When you enter a chatroom, do more than 50% say hi to you?
15. Do you have your own hair and teeth?
16. On a 1-10 scale, with 10 being Jesse Ventura, how butch are you?
17. On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being Barbie, how femme are you?
18. What percentage of things you say are lies?
19. If 1 is Michelle Pfeiffer and 10 is Mike Tyson, how nice looking are you?
20. What's your most disgusting habit?
Slowly Snapping Out Of It

Okay, my coma is easing up a bit and I am formulating a decent blog,
a "New Girlfriend Application."
This might take a minute, so go on about your business.
To Blog When the Well is Dry

Hmm. I seemed to have emptied my blog idea box recently, and slept most of the last two days, so I have no idea what's going on in the world.
I have no idea what's going on in my yard or driveway.
In short, I am boring. Even my cats yawn when they look at me.
I have to go think of something to write. Then I'll be back.

Monday, July 29, 2002

Monday Afternoon

Thank God I am between assignments right now, because I seriously think my brain software needs to be reinstalled.
I think some industrious charity should organize a Sleepathon that starts immediately after Blogathon. But, anyway...
Today's question is this.
Why do all convenience stores owned by Pakistani and East Indian people smell like the same 49¢ rose scented incense? You never see them burning incense, but the smell is so intense it's enough to knock you back as you enter.
Over on Barcodie's blog, he's got a link to some truck driver's site who gives his Rules of the Road.
Interesting facts behind his rules, however I can condense my rules of driving near 18-wheelers on the road. Simply pass them as quickly as you can and stay as far away as you can from them, as much as you can.
I just consider all 18-wheelers to be 50,000 pound moving dynamite bunkers, driven by manic people, high on crank and listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd full blast.
But then I am in Texas, so it could be Garth Brooks or George Strait they are listening to full blast.

Sunday, July 28, 2002

Hello Out There

I woke up at 3 p.m.
My head hurts.
I think I may have sprained my brain this weekend.
I can't think of any words with more than two syllab- uh...uh...
Ow. Back to bed.
And now, the end is here.

In the last 24 hours, my little site had more than 500 visits.
Despite the obvious computer and ISP problems, I had a great time.
Thank you all for your comments, for making me laugh, for letting me spoof your sites, and for donating your money and time to this event.

Good night, and good morning.
I am outta here!
Six Thirty

I am literally hallucinating, visually and audibly.
I forget whether I have my glasses on or off.
I turned off the TV and thought it was still on. I had to turn it back on because I was hearing it anyway.
I have spent the night making up for lost time, and I know there are more than 50 blogs altogether.
I had Grey Bird's help in posting eight really long blogs during the wee hours. Thanks, GB.
Turns out Blogger doesn't usually boot me unless I try to publish a big one.
That explains all the itty bitty, last minute posts about Martha Stewart and Big Betty's sausage dinner by moonlight.
I was going to take it further, but I am too damn tired to write, or even care, about lesbo prison sex.
I started this adventure at 7a.m. yesterday. I have 30 minutes to go.
Though I was unable to follow the blog-twice-an-hour rule, I read that the Blogathon people allow for crashes, dicey isps, downtime for repairs and other problems like the ones I had all damn day and night.
This is Getting a Mite Weird

There's something rather perverse about staying up all night for charity, writing soft porn about Martha Stewart and Big Betty at 5 a.m.
After being glued to this computer in one way or another for the last 22 hours, I am beginning not to give a damn about what happens with that big hard prison sausage.
All I want by now is a hot shower and a cool pillow... and 12 hours of REM sleep.

Big Betty Busts a Move

Yo MizStew!
The suasage is that real hard kine. I got
plenny, about 10 inchs. I be lookin foard
to stickin it between those buns. Girl I be
hungry just thinkin bout it. I bet you be.
Chow 2U2,
Big Betty
Martha Plays it Cool

Dear Elizabeth,
Dining al fresco sounds wonderful.
With the sausage being contraband,
take caution to hide it in your trousers
so your shirt covers the obvious bulge.
I shall bring the buns. See you at 7.
Big Betty Has a Plan

Yo MStew
We can kick it behine the basketball court
round about 7 when the wardens are
in they meetings.
I be smugglin in the saugeage. I got the kine
you say you like. Long and thick.
Can you bring bread or some warm buns?
Hide it unner your shirt, yo.
I read some of that book you loan me.
I thought Leaves of Grass be about weed,
But it was'nt. Peace out.
Big Betty
Martha Responds

Dear Elizabeth,
I'd adore more of your delicious sausage and
in fact I do prefer the longer, thicker, meatier
type. So juicy and delicious, served with a zesty
dipping sauce.
The bread was also a delightful surprise.
So soft and well kneaded.
Perhaps a picnic on the grounds?
Big Betty Raises the Stakes

Yo MStew,
You a classy lady. I be happy to get you
more sasage. You like the longer, thicker
kind? I was sorry to here of that pain in
your franceis. Sometime a woman get a
need down there and it ake.
Big Betty
Martha Replies

Dear Elizabeth,
Thank you kindly for your gracious offer to
look after me. In this environment, it is
comforting to know some compassion exists.
The pain Fran├žais and the sausage were lovely.
Martha Stewart
3:20 a.m.

Okay, I am tired and dumb.
I promised myself I'd not make tired and dumb blogs, but that's before I was this tired and dumb. Now I gotta get it up for Martha's reply to Big Betty.

Martha's New Admirer's Note

Yo Yo Yo MStew
I ain't axin' to get my freak on witchu, but just so's you knows,
a lady such as y'self need some lookin out 4.
Hope you like this sasage and bread, I know'd that jail food be
makin you feel like shit an all.
B2 or else, Big Betty
Blogathon Haiku

Such a peaceful day
Blog, crash, blog, crash, blog, crash, blog
I'm at one with Dog

Hey, great idea!
Blog for 24 hours
Feel like shit for weeks

Hello, AOL?
Yes, how can't we help you, ma'am?
Let me count the ways

Hello, Macintosh?
Yrz, blekrof drj or guthur?
I don't understand.

Blogathon: raise bucks
While you fry your system crisp
Charity, bite me.

2 a.m., sore eyes
Butt feels like a chunk of lead
Damn, I miss my bed.
My Jimi Hendrix Experience: He Played Real Good, For Free

People under age 35 have likely heard of Jimi Hendrix, the legendary guitarist who died of a drug overdose in 1970 at the age of 28.
They may have heard his music, too, and they know it still holds up today as a definitive example of guitar virtuosity.
But to see him play live was the most extraordinary event of my youth.
First time I saw him was on Feb.15, 1968 at the San Antonio Municipal Auditorium.
I was 16 years old, already smoking weed and wearing love beads and flowers in my hair.
My hippie pals Linda and Judy and I rode the bus downtown early.
We decided to go to the hotel where he was rumored to be staying to try to catch a glimpse of him. While they were scoping out the south side of the hotel, I was on the north.
There he came, out of a limo, smoking a Lark cigarette. He stubbed it out and entered the lobby. I said hi to him and asked for an autograph. He politely agreed, and used my back as a desk from which to scribble his name.
As he walked away, I scampered outside and collected the still warm cigarette butt from the ashtray. I wrote his name on it in tiny script.
To call the concert that night astounding was like saying the Grand Canyon is pretty deep. The audience all appeared to be holding a few joints, so the air remained hazy with pot smoke all night.
I was hallucinatingly high. We all were.
Jimi played his guitar like it was his one true lover. He hit more notes than I thought humanly possible. He laid on his back and played with his teeth. He played it backwards, sideways and upside down. He made the guitar cry. He made it sing.
The music was hypnotic. All our hearts were beating in rhythm.
We left the concert in a blissful, lovestruck daze.
After the concert, Linda and Judy had to return home, so I hooked up with my big sister who was at the concert with her older friends. We decided to go to Love Street, a small, two-story discotheque a few blocks from the auditorium.
The house band was a typical 60's hippie rock band called Sweet Smoke. They were good and we knew and liked them all.
As we waited for them to take the stage, the owner of the joint came on stage and took the mic. "Uh, tonight we are going to be trying out a new guy, his name's Jim, and I want you guys to give him a chance."
We began to jeer, wanting Sweet Smoke to play their regular gig.
"No, no, don't get bummed out, just give this guy a chance," the owner said.
From the wings entered Jim, also known as Jimi Hendrix.
He and his guitarist Noel Redding took the stage and played a wailing two hour set, for free.
My Own Survey, For a Change

Television Survey

What TV shows will you watch without answering the phone, door or tolerating other interruptions?
Six Feet Under, Survivor, the Sopranos

What TV shows make you laugh out loud?
The Bernie Mac Show, the Simpsons

What are the most intelligent shows on TV?
The West Wing, BBC News, Politically Incorrect, any CNN report done by Christiane Amanpour

What show makes you want to shoot the TV screen out?
Touched by an Angel, NFL Football, any televangelist

If you could tie Osama bin Laden to a chair and make him watch one show over and over, which would it be?
The Shopping Network or Teletubbies

What's your favorite bizarre TV show?
Iron Chef

Who gets too much TV exposure?
Emeril Lagasse

What shows are most overrated?
Everybody Loves Raymond, Just Shoot Me

What shows are most underrated?
Resurrection Blvd., Soul Food

What's your favorite old Nick at Night sit com?
Mary Tyler Moore

What's the worst show in the history of TV?
PTL Club, My Mother the Car, Barney and Friends
My Las Vegas Drinking Guide

I am not a daily drinker. Not even a weekly drinker.
I do drink on occasion, and when I do I can hold my liquor pretty damn well.
In Las Vegas they give you free drinks while you gamble so they can get you fucked up and all stupid with your money.
I used to not drink anything but Cokes while I was playing slots, but in March when I was last there I did drink, it loosened me up and I won a shitload of money for the first time.
So this trip I am thinking drinks will be a part of my superstitious, hoodoo, OCD, nutty as a squirrel in a Baggy, ridiculous gambling rituals.
But one must carefully calibrate drinking options before they land in Vegas.
Since I hate to step away from the casino to eat, this means lots of juice and cream based drinks. Since I hate to get sleepy and go to bed, this means lots of coffee and Frangelica or coffee and Bailey's. Add Coca-Cola based drinks as fillers.
I won $1,000 at Binion's Horseshoe, based on a formula of three rum and Cokes, a Jack and Coke, and a bottle of water.
On another night when I was too fried to risk gambling dollars, I won $200 in nickels, based solely on drinking brandy alexanders all night long.
Mornings call for bloody marys and screwdrivers.
Afternoons call for vodka with clear, not too sweet mixers.
Night time is the right time for dark liquors, liqueurs and coffee drinks.
Gin, I love, but I don't do much in Vegas because the buzz is too heavy.
Same with tequila.
Wine and beer, forget about it. I am not drinking cheap casino wine, and beer causes too much pee-time, risking having to leave a hot machine.
If anyone has any other Vegas drinking tips, let me know. I'm all eyes.
When Texans Talk Lazy

I can talk and act like a Texan right out of central casting when I want, but I find I can charge clients more when I tone down the folksy bullshit and enunciate, like some kinda fancy college girl. I do however, enjoy a good Texas drawl and the shortcuts that come with it.

· Ennyhow
Ennyhow, here is a brief guide to speaking Texan.

· All y'all.
Are all y'all going in that one truck?

· Aight
Pick me up at seben?

· Biggo
I caught me some biggo trout last weekend.

· Donedone
I told ya, I donedone it awready.

· Eyetalian
We are goin' out for Eyetalian food tonight.

· Fixinta
I am fixinta goat the store, yawan anythang?

· Jeet
Hey, jeet yet? I'm hongry.

· Momenem
How's your Momenem?

· Whole nuther
That's a whole nuther can o' worms.

· Sketty
When we go to the Eyetalian restaurant, I'm gettin sketty and meatballs.

· Hey
Hey, what doin?
Hey, nuthin much
Hey, sounds good
Hey, yep.
Okay well, hey.

· Goldarn
That's the goldarn biggest dog I ever seen.

· Izzy Bizzy
Hey, where's Bubba? Izzy bizzy?

· Put near
I made put near forty dolla at the flea market.

· Tard
I worked like a rented mule today, I'm tard.

· Hunka
Hey, cut me off a hunka that lemon pie, will ya darlin'?

· Molehole
Aw quit yer bitchin,' you're makin' a mountain out of a molehole.

· No nevermind
She's just a crazy old biddy, don't pay her no nevermind.

· Goff
He's gettin so big fer his britches, next thing he'll be playing goff.

· Gottdam
You ain't got no gottdam bidness tryin to act thataway.

· Gace
Bubba, you got enough gace in your truck to git there?

· Orl
Bubba, you better check the orl while you at it.

· Whine
I like beer, but whine is fer women and sissy boys.

· Justso's
Justso's you know, my husbin is the jealous type.

· Ain-ether
You're just a biggo drunk.

· Shitload
Son, go get me a shitload of them fried pies I like.

· Ammonia
When I wake up Linda Lou for some lovin', I say right into her face,
"Ammonia, now wake up."

· Biggin
Woo wee, that Johnny Clyde's got a biggin.

· Sodie
I'm thirsty, I need a biggo sodie.

· Water
Water you lookin' at, Bubba?

· Dingdang
Hey, you kids quieten down, you'll wake up the whole dingdang trailer park.

· Liketa
It was so dingdang hot, I liketa keeled over.

· Fourteen
Joe Bob is so damn lazy, when he orders him a 7 &7, he calls it a fourteen.

· Kina pye
What kina pye you want fer dessert?

· Taco
That Debbie Sue's so purty, she's the taco the town.

· Tump
Careful, Donna Rae, don't tump over your sodie!

· Swole up
I sprained my gottdurned ankle and now it's all swole up.

· Catty whompus
Straighten up that lampshade, Eula May, it's all catty whompus.

· Lit out
Them Miller boys stole that beer then they lit out o' there like they's on fire.

· Go on up in through there over yonder
How do you get to Lubbock? Easy, you just go on up in through there over yonder.

· Chester drawers
Fold up them socks and put 'em in yer chester drawers.

If you don't quit that sassy talk, ahmo take a switch to your beehind.

· Hairyew
Mornin' ma'am, hairyew today?

· Rench
Before you dry them dishes, you better rench them off good.

· Yadda
Gottdurn it, Clarence, yadda wash your truck onest in a while.

· Sumbitch
I tell ya what, that sumbitch was cheatin' at cards last night.

· Insinuendo
I hate all this gossipin' and all these insinuendos!
My Very Brief Standup Comedy Career

I have a good friend in Kansas City, Missouri who used to be a standup comedian.
She and I were once very close, and I started to send her material I wrote for her to consider using in her act.
She told me a lot of what I wrote went over pretty well, and I was happy for her.
Then she mentioned making $700 on a one-night gig and I thought, hey fuck her, I'm going to write my own standup routine and get me some of those seven hundred dollars.
I bought some how-to books on standup comedy and read them carefully.
Then I got a little micro tape recorder and started filling it with observational comedy, the fairly clean kind done by Ellen, Seinfeld and those types.
I finally worked up a 5-minute routine, after discarding many hours of total crap, then I started trying out some of it on my sisters and a few friends.
They laughed hard, and in my vast conceit, it hadn't occurred to me they were being more supportive than genuinely as amused as they seemed to be.
The next step was to find an open mic night at a comedy club.
I wasn't about to do it in San Antonio; I have conservative clients who might have seen me and considered me too fucking goofy to write their precious corporate crap.
So I chose the Velveeta Room in Austin. They had open mic nights every Thursday.
I decided to do generic comedy instead of out-lesbian comedy, because the audience was mostly straight guys, all liquored up and mouthy.
My sister stacked the audience with about 20 of our friends, so I knew I'd at least get some faux laughs instead of that paralyzing silence or heckling one hears about.
This was in summer. The club's air conditioning was amped up to a smarmy 84┬║, with a few cheap little fans scattered around to circulate the hot air.
I sweat when I'm hot. When I am hot and I drink even one ounce of alcohol, I sweat like a Louisiana linebacker in a Saran Wrap suit. My hair even gets wet. It's horrible.
So I couldn't even have a drink to steady my nerves.
Being brand new, I arrived and signed up early to perform, but was bumped back by about 25 comics and aspiring comics who were experienced and trying out new material.
The standup virgins like me didn't get on stage until about 11, on a weeknight, which is bad because everyone in the audience was pretty drunk and rowdy by then.
About 10 comics before I'd gone on, some drunk asshole Latino comic was on stage heckling me as I sat with my friends at our long table.
He said some rude things and was booed by my table, so he tried to apologize by offering to buy me a drink. I said, "No thanks," in a loud voice. He said, "Well, fuck you, then."
So I said in a loud stage voice, "NO THANKS!"
I got a round of applause, and that bastard didn't even know I was one of the comics coming up later.
So the moment had come.
I took the stage and all I could see was a band of stage lights that radiated about as much heat on my already overheated body as a French fry lamp. Lights and heat and a cheap mic, already sweaty and germy from the 25 comics who preceded me. Swell.
I skipped my prepared intro and instead said, "Now, where's that Chicano asshole who was heckling me?" I got a big laugh and some scattered applause.
Then I said, "You give these wetback pendejos a green card and they think they're stars!"
"Wetback" and "pendejo" (Spanish for 'asshole') are phrases one must use very gingerly in South Texas, so I got off the bastard's back pretty quick.
After that, I went into my practiced routine and did fairly okay.
I did a short bit on gay pride rainbow decals on cars, asking if they were not the worst kept secret code on earth. The straight people in the audience reacted like they had never seen a pride decal. I ditched the next gay joke.
I can't remember what else I said, but I remember I finished with a rendition of a country song I wrote called, "If You See Kay," which goes like this:

F-U-C-K, tell her I love her
F-U-C-K, tell her I care
F-U-C-K, tell her I miss her
F-U-C-K, buy her a beer...

It bombed, and that was the boffo ending to my comedy career.
Martha Stewart's Sing Sing Prison Bitch Lifestyle
It's a Good Thing!


Now that I am spending some time away from my estates, I have discovered many new "good things" I'd like to share.

· My daughter Alexis sent me some Portland cement, sugar and flour mixed together in a baby powder package. I find placing some of this powder in a jar lid, with a tuna can of water beside it makes an effective rodent treatment for one's quarters. The rodents love the zesty mix, but when they get thirsty and sip water, the cement tends to harden and destroy their filthy little digestive systems.

· The deceased rodents can then be used to carry messages to colleagues in other quarters. Simply jam a message or note into the rodent's mouth and use the tail to hurl the heavy bellied creature toward your intended correspondent.

· Institutional linens can be softened by shaving them with a disposable razor. I save the lint to fashion papier mache friendship rings, one of which I have given to my assistant Elizabeth, who for some reason still insists I call her "Big Betty."

· Exercise in limited space is essential. I find that continually tightening my buttocks muscles relieves tension and firms the derriere. This also discourages unwelcome personal contact while showering or shampooing.

· Tampons cut into half inch lengths make excellent ear plugs for noisy nights.

· Leftover, unbuttered toast or biscuits make wonderful one-use facial scrubs.

· A sanitary napkin, soaked in cool water, makes a rejuvenating eye mask.

· A bar of soap can be carved into charming shapes and designs, which make excellent hostess gifts when visiting other inmates. A plastic, serrated knife makes a suitable carving tool. Elizabeth loved the authentic, Alaskan design totem pole I carved for her, but she said she wished she could get soap in 9 inch bars so she could carve
a special, larger totem for me.

· Cigarettes are valuable trading commodities, however after some trial and error, I found French Gitanes are not as popular as a brand called "Kools." When I used the phrase "trading commodities" to Alexis during a visitation, she shushed me quite harshly. She did however provide funds for a carton of Kools at the commissary, and I
have traded some of them with dear Elizabeth for several Xanax.
Martha Stewart's Sing Sing Prison Bitch Diary:
The Missing First Pages: Part Three

Words cannot convey the abysmal "cuisine" they "serve" at this facility.
Were it not for Elizabeth smuggling in an occasional baguette or those lovely, long knackwursts she seems to enjoy so much, I would have perished.
I can barely face writing what I must describe, but I must, for if I try to hold my horror inside, I fear it will cause facial lines.
Breakfast consists of offal that even common swine would avoid. Their porridge, which of course they call, "oat n' meal," is prepared with sheer thoughtlessness. No blueberries, brown sugar, butter curls, cream, nor even a common raisin is added to the horrid, lukewarm gruel.
Eggs are of highly questionable origin.
I suspect from their green tinge they are pigeon eggs, harvested from the rafters of condemned crack houses in Brooklyn. Not only are they inferior, they are desiccated and must be reconstituted with water. As if!
Desperate residents sprinkle them with, brace yourself, highly coveted pulverized bouillon cubes to enhance the nauseating flavor.
And with breakfast, do they serve scones, croissant, bagels or even rye toast? Certainly not! They provide untoasted white bread. No marmalade or preserves, no cinnamon, nor even a speck of lowly margarine! It is barbaric!
Luncheon is worse. A common, generic hamburger bun is assaulted with a layer of some type of boiled, pre-formed ground animal flesh. Condiments are nonexistent. Accompanying this daily monstrosity is a tiny packet of wilted celery strips and livestock quality carrots.
Dinner, my dear heavens, surpasses even the other meals in its atrocity.
Starchy, glutinous pasta is smothered in starchy, glutinous sauce, presumably to hide the mystery flesh that lurks within. Green, leafy vegetables are as rare as beluga caviar in this chamber of horrors.
One knows life has become sheer hell when something called "Chili Mac" is the most palatable dish.
I simply cannot go any further in this painful narrative. I haven't the strength.

Martha Stewart's Sing Prison Bitch Diary:
The Missing First Pages: Part Two

Dear Diary:

This facility has positively Palestinian standards for bedding and linens.
They had the audacity to provide the following items, which even my Chows would eschew.
First I received a thin, scratchy wool single bed blanket, with frayed binding and moth holes from improper storage. The gray color was tinged with yellow hues, making it a decorating nightmare.
Then I was handed a threadbare, dingy white sheet of manmade fibers, and a thin foam pad, encased in plastic to use as a "mattress." The "mattress" was much like the sanitary doggy napkins I used on my Chow, Princess Ivan, when she first went into season.
What I thought was a pillow turned out to be a shapeless, used nightgown, made of something that aspired to be common housepainter's cheesecloth.
I asked the trustee who was handing out the gowns, a large, menacing woman called, "Big Betty," about the absence of a pillow. She winked at me and slipped me an extra gown, telling me to, "Just wad it up and use it as a pillow, Mama."
She winked, which was the one gesture of warmth I had gleaned that horrid day, and though Alexis my daughter calls me "Mother," I found her term "mama" quite quaint.
After the bedding and linen ordeal, a truly barbaric showering and delousing ritual ensued, but it was far too traumatic to describe.
I was then ushered into a holding tank, where I had to fraternize with prostitutes, drug addicts, thieves, drug peddlers, drunken drivers, tattooed people, and an assortment of the worst haircuts and hideous ensembles I have yet to witness. I won't even comment on the poor grammar, profanity and slang I had to endure.
No one offered me a seat, so I was forced to take my place on the concrete floor.
It was there I met a petite Puerto Rican woman named ChaCha, who claimed to be a dancer, and Shandalier, a very tall African American woman who told me she was in the exotic entertainment industry, but was incarcerated for possession of rock cocaine, which she insisted was planted on her in a frame-up.
Big Betty, the trustee, came by later that day and kindly offered me a candy Lifesaver.
I asked if she had anything like an English toffee or a Coffee Nip, but she hadn't heard of those confections, poor dear. I took the proffered Lifesaver, but it was that dreadful pineapple flavor, so I discretely spat it out.
The prisoners began to whisper about my celebrity, some chuckling menacingly.
Big Betty glared at them and said, "Yo, anyone who dis MStew get a piece of me, you muthafuckas know what I'm saying?" I was not sure what she meant, but I suspect "MStew" referred to me. Last time I heard that horrid moniker was at P Diddy's white party in the Hamptons. It seemed more tolerable after three flutes of Dom.
Eventually, I fell asleep fitfully, leaning against a soiled, graffiti littered wall, flanked by ChaCha and Shandalier.
Their combined, heavily applied fragrances of faux Halston and Charlie served to rather bluntly mask the scents of poor hygiene, human waste, and vomited inexpensive wine that hovered over the room like a polluted cloud.
I dreamed of drinking fresh limeade, in a Smith & Hawken's classic Adirondack chair overlooking the Cape, while my prized peonies waved gently in the sea breeze.
Xanax is... a good thing.
To be continued...
Artemis: Outloud and Quizzical

(Caveat: I don't know how to stick all those freakin' quiz pictures on my little blog, so you'll all just have to use your imaginations on the visuals.)

July 26
WooHoo I'm Hermoine!
(imagine Hermoine Granger photo here)
Brainy and brave, you dig to the bottom of every mystery until it's solved.
Your direct ways may make some bristle, yet you shan't worry, your brilliance makes you a favourite amongst your mates!

July 25
I think I lost 4 more ounces today.

July 18
On the B-52's Which Song Are You Quiz, I was LOVE SHACK!
(imagine a picture of that gay B-52's guy here)

Huggin' and a kissin', dancin' and a lovin',
wearin' next to nothing cause it's hot as an oven!
The whole shack shimmies when everybody's movin'
around and around and around!
Everybody's movin', everybody's groovin' baby!
Folks linin' up outside just to GET DOWN!

July 10
Which TeleTubbie are you?
(imagine that gay, purple one here)
You are Tinky Winky!
Open minded and a little androgynous, Tinky Winky is dashing and bold, yet still likes a good cuddle now and then.

June 28
I haven't blogged in a while.

June 4
Which tool are you quiz?
(picture a little pair of pliers here)
With just a flick of the wrist, you can unstick any sticky situation. Sturdy but graceful, you fit snugly into anyone's pocket or tool kit. Versatile, logical and practical, you are handy to have around.
May 23
Haven't blogged lately.
April 4
Not much going on lately
Thru Wind and Rain and...whatever

I am still holding it together after blogging, or trying to blog, or talking to techs or rebuilding this and throwing out this and rebooting here and, well, I have been within a foot of my computer for 18 hours now.
I feel really awful about not being able to do the dog and pony show I'd planned, but I am still here and when my computer crashes in another 15 minutes, I'll tinker with it and try to get back online as soon as I can.
I signed on for 48 blogs and I'll do 48, no matter how long it takes.
So if you're still up, stop in and leave a comment.
And if you pledged money, feel no obligation to send it in. We made a deal and the terms of the deal went bad. Damn it.
New Magazine Ideas

With so many specialty magazines on the stands, I figured I'd come up with a few even more specific ones.

• Sandwich!
For the sandwich gourmet in you, new recipes and innovations in the art of sandwich making. Color photos, contests, my favorite sandwich reader's forum.

• Pencil Lovers
A colorful and informative magazine devoted to pencil connoisseurs. News for collectors, latest innovations, consumer rating, pencil of the month, celebrity pencil lovers interviews, more.

• Cream
A compendium of body creams, hand lotions, body oils, moisturizers, tips on creams, consumer surveys, new creams, cream of the month.

• Tripod Pups
The ultimate magazine for owners and friends of three legged dogs. True stories, photos, prosthetic reviews, contests. Fun for the whole doggone family!

• Scar Monthly
Readers who have scars, love a scarred one or otherwise need a comprehensive guide to scars will love this new magazine. Features a scar of the month photo contest, poetry, testimonials and special scar-to-scar dating service.

• GooGoo
A special magazine for adults into the fascinating infantilism scene. See sexy adult baby photos, hot new diapering styles, sources for large pacifiers, rattles and big baby clothes. Baby of the Month features, formula recipes, adult baby stories and much more.
JadedJillyJu: Delectable but Dead Tired

Oy. After working a 23 hour day, MotherJu called, wanting to chat.

JadedJillyJu: Hello?
MotherJu: So, when are you coming to see me?
JadedJillyJu: Mother, I am working 90-hour weeks.
MotherJu: How can you give me a grandchild, with those hours?
JadedJillyJu: Grandchild? I'm a lesbian, remember?
MotherJu: With hours like that, who has time to be a lesbian?
JadedJillyJu: Sigh...
MotherJu: What, with a degree from UMASS, which I might remind you wasn't free, and all you have is a sigh?
JadedJillyJu: So... how is Cousin B.Ju?
MotherJu: I am sure her old timer's disease is still flaring up. Last I saw her, she didn't know me from Oprah. Like talking to a wall, she was.
JadedJillyJu: ::chuckling::
MotherJu: Oh sure, you laugh like this is a joke? Here's a joke, I feel awful! I see 20 doctors a week, and they just pat me and send me on my way. But I think you'd like Dr. Glickman...
JadedJillyJu: Oh? What's she like?
MotherJu: She? His name is Jerome Glickman, but he's a sensitive boy, almost womanish. You might try to be as open minded as you say you are.
JadedJillyJu: I am open minded but I am a lesbian. Remember?
MotherJu: Dr. Glickman is very fey.
JadedJillyJu: Oh really? Hmm. What's his specialty?
MotherJu: Proctology.
JadedJillyJu: Uh oh, I see smoke coming from my kitchen, gotta go, love you, mwaaa!
MotherJu: Nine months of pregnancy and 70 hours of horrible labor pains for this?
MotherJu: Hello? Hello? Oy vey, what a nerve.
Melly: Ordinary Moaning

Right. Yeah. So I met up with Jess and Toad and we went to this deli and had some kind of radiated fruit cup, then I saw this guy's bulge and almost had to cup it in my hand but I had to run really fast backwards to buy an aluminum hat.
I had bearclaws in my nipples and saw this thing with chrome and electrodes and shit but this naked chick was leaning on it so I went and humped her thigh then I laughed because she said hey I like your aluminum hat, is that like, a colander?
I'm straight but I can be bent.
I took some pictures of that thing and it was like a flower but with a tangerine sky.
So I got really wet and juicy, and put on tight jeans and a crop top and some glossy lipstick and made pancakes and ate them on the porch while the sky turned hazelnut and that guy said he wouldn't do what he said he might do, only maybe next week.
And I got one hand in my pocket and the other one is doing a ballet.

Saturday, July 27, 2002

Time for Your Medicine, You Crazy Buckeye Sons of Bitches!

I finally got my nursing certificates from those hen-eyed, brotherfucking, soggy brained, sweat stained, swamp dwelling, brown toothed, no deodorant wearing, Confederate flag flying, cocaine smuggling, gun running, mutant, frog sucking, bribe taking, fucking Florida bureau-clerks.
So I started my new job as an Ohio psych nurse and the first thing I discover is we have to chart in green ink. I hate green ink, it makes me want to bear down and squeeze my brain out my nose and have it projectile onto the nitpicking, constipated, Chief of Staff's cheap toupee.
One of my coworkers, a dumpy old RN named Cora Dell, has a bunch of religious brochures and little Jesus and scripture plaques all over her desk. She said Jerry Falwell is her personal hero "outside of Jesus Christ Hisself."
I found her lunchbox in the breakroom and took her sandwich out of it's ziplock bag and rubbed it all over my ass. Now she's going to be eating lesbian butt butter, which I know she'll enjoy. I also switched all her green pen fillers for red ink fillers, that fucking fuck.
I went out on the unit and this schizophrenic was playing with himself. I told him I was from the Command Ship Zolov and his mission was to stop touching his dick and to count ceiling tiles instead. He asked me if I had my aluminum hat and I said that was only for ceremonial duties.
Then two delusional guys were huddled together talking neologisms. One said he was Steven Hawking and the other said he was President Bush, so I told Steven to smarten up Bush, the original Black Hole.
Then I went home and the heat was so intense, Sorrento had planted a cacti garden in the living room and it started fucking flowering. I was so hot, my bra elastic melted and fused to my skin. Now I have fucking Cross Your Heart scars across my tits.
I turned on the oven and opened the door to catch a cool breeze. My dog was chasing my cat, and they were both fucking walking.
My son's Pokemon toys had melted into a colorful puddle that he fashioned into a little princess tiara and put in the fridge to set. I had taken a few bites of it before I realized this wasn't just some fucked up Jell-O.
Sorrento was wearing a long sleeved flannel shirt and jeans, and I swear she looked so fucking totally *HOT* I wanted to drop to my knees and just bite those fucking jeans off her fine, fine, fine ass. She is so *HOT*, JLo took a photo of her ass to the plastic surgeon and asked him to redo hers. She is so *HOT* we went into a gay bar and all the bottles exploded. Have I mentioned how *HOT* she is?
Meanwhile, I have gotten another editor to look over my book. This makes the 72nd editor, but I keep having to switch because they keep yakking about shit that they want to change but I don't. Which sucks.

Motherfucking Motherfuckers!!!!

5:30 Browser went down like a $2 crack whore.
5:32 First of nine calls to AOL- 8 techs told me 8 different pieces of shit
Tech 9 had me REINSTALL AOL.
Tech 9 palms me off on Apple.
7:45 One Call to Macintosh.
Suggestion failed.
8:15 Panicky Cell phone call to my local version of Grey Bird, Tricia
8:45 Tricia arrives
Test one fails
Test two fails
Test three fails
Fiddles around
Test four succeeds!!


Basically I blogged my fucking computer to DEATH!
But like the phoenix...I am risen.

Stay tuned for a mess of blogs.
Tracy's up next. Bwahahahah!!!
News Flash

We interrupt this Blogathon to notify you that Karen Zipdrive is experiencing technical difficulties. I'm certain she'll have scathing and vengeful commentary about the various service providers she uses as soon as she returns. Hurry back, Karen, the natives are getting restless!
TECH FLOO FLOO- I rant, therefore I rant

It's so damn hot, while I was watering the lawn today the Princess came out to bring me some iced nectar she harvested from our backyard garden of Sapphic delight.
She wore a diaphanous white gown, and as she stood next to me, a flock of bluebirds carrying beautiful ribbons in their beaks circled over our heads, chirping happily.
Then, to my horror, a gnat landed on her shoulder.
Fearing she might suffer a painful gnat sting, I lunged toward her and successfully removed the menacing insect. No harm was done, though she was somewhat shaken.
I gently escorted her inside, where she gazed at me with her soft doe eyes and said I was her hero.
As she settled in on her silk moire throne and opened her issue of Vogue, I suited up and went out to the gym and bench pressed 300 pounds, then played some full contact football with some college boys, then I came home and built her a C-46-KKY2-3000 mega harddrive coaxial C3PO hybrid 7 million mega gigatron laptop. Then I got out my 500 pps air compressor, hooked up the spray attachment and painted it pink, just for her.
She giggled and gently kissed my cheek, and it made it all worthwhile.

Oh, and the winner of my contest was Geekygirl, with her entry "Labial Fartface."
Martha Stewart's Sing Sing Prison Bitch Diary:
The Missing First Pages: Part One

Dear Diary,

"It's a Good Thing" I love a challenge, because my induction to this facility has left much to be desired.
I am accustomed to being booked for public appearances.
This type of booking, however, is totally devoid of graciousness or hospitality of any sort. My agent wasn't even allowed to handle the front-end details for me.
My introduction included having black soot rubbed onto my fingertips so they could fingerprint me, as if they didn't know Martha Stewart, those smug civil service vermin!
No suitable moisturizing cleanser was provided to remove the black filth. My manicure was decimated!
Then a sub-par photographer, with no aesthetic je ne sais quoi whatsoever, shot a full face and profile of me in the harshest possible fluorescent lighting. He actually chuckled when I asked to see proofs.
Though I had packed some suitable linen and cotton resort wear from Land's End and J. Peterman, they confiscated it and instead issued me a polyester blend "lounge suit" consisting of horrid, unstructured trousers with an unflattering elastic waist, and a top resembling something an impoverished vocational nursing student might wear.
I specifically requested something in a nice seafoam or sage, but they gave me faded navy blue, with horrid stenciling. I am not a winter, I am a spring, and navy is all wrong for me. The clothing was actually used and relaundered, and not even suitable for doing a rag faux finish on interior walls.
When I told them I had skin too sensitive to wear ployester blends, they used unsavory, abusive language as though they were criminals themselves.
They also confiscated my French lingerie and issued me two horrid pairs of white cotton briefs, which come up to my thorax.
The slip-on canvas "yachting shoes" were of Pakistani sweatshop quality, with zero arch support. And they also expect me to wear used tube socks, which I shant, under any conditions.
Now I must rest before I describe the nightmarish bedding and linens they assigned.
So glad I thought to smuggle some Xanax in that very personal spot.
More when I am calm enough to collect my thoughts...
Ladies and gentlemen,

It's time to brew a delicious cup of hibiscus tea, put some Brahms on the stereo, light your French lavender votives, sit back in your Eames leather chairs, and get ready for Miss Martha Stewart, otherwise known as convict #60783492!

Heeeere she comes!
Battle Hymn of the Dubya Republic

Mine eyes have seen the likelihood of everlasting war
Jenna's sucking down the vintage where the grapes of wrath are poured
Dubya's loosed the frightful budget of his buddy's costly swords
His "truth" is droning on.

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
What's it to ya if we screw ya?
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
The war keeps marching on.

I have seen him eat a pretzel and get awful choking cramps
They have builded Bush an office with some rosy colored lamps
l can read his righteous blather, watch his little foot that stamps
Dubya keeps droning on.

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
What's it to ya if we screw ya?
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Get Colin Powell, Right On!

I have read the fiery nonsense writ in angry Muslim shpiel,
"As we deal with Arab nutters, like a pig let's make 'em squeal."
Let the Bush kid born of Barbara crush the serpents with his heel
Since God's Republican!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
What's it to ya if we screw ya?
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
This war keeps marching on.

Bush has paid his war compadres and shall never call retreat
He is sifting out detractors from his judge-a-mental seat
Oh, be swift, or else, to answer him! "Oh Bush, you are so neat!"
His "truth" keeps droning on.

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
What's it to ya if we screw ya?
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
This war keeps marching on.

ln the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With an all-star sort of chutzpah that just nixes Allah, see?
As he died to make men holy, now we kill to make men free,
While Jesus rolls his eyes

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
What's it to ya if we screw ya?
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
This war keeps marching on
The Gay Bird Talks

Whew, I am exhausted from this week.
I had to study for five certification exams I have on Monday, including the Connecticular mainframe master encoding proximal/coaxial binary index genius of the world exam, the reverse vaporized file encoding VPN ISA technical proficiency exam, the CIW AssessPREP licensing exam, the object oriented analysis and data base application and internetworking Prometric VUE ascii jpg orgasmatron assessment exam, and the one I am dreading most, the MCSE 4, MCSE 2000, CNE 4, CNE 5, CCNP, CCIE, LPI Level 2 SAIR Level 2 LCE Ei-Ei-O exam.
My puppy Thilde entered herself in the IAMS smartest and cutest puppy on Earth contest and won, so we will be going to Washington, DC on Saturday morning to pick up her cash prize and trophy.
I am also competing in the Tour de Upstate New York bicycling marathon that afternoon, but I will be wearing my wireless access point, attached to my mobile 4-port DSL router butt pack, so I can design websites for three or four freelance jobs while I pedal for the medal.
On Sunday, Mel and I decided we'd strip the paint off our house to the bare wood so we can repaint it before it gets too dark that night. We might grill after we finish.
I am also learning to speak German at Frau Mueller's Accelerated German Academy for my upcoming vacation. I have managed to learn a little so far, but my future perfect verb tenses are a little confusing.
Then that totally computer inept kiss-up Karen over at Pulp Friction wants another f*cking Blogathon button installed on her site. She's getting worse than Jerry Lewis with this Blogathon obsession. Between that and that damn Lefty of hers, I feel like deleting her entire blogsistence and blocking my e-mail and IMs just to shut her up for a few weeks.

Barcodie: Too Late! I've Already Gone Postal!

Tonight I set my diet Coke on top of my ElectroCom Automation L.P. DBCS IV Model 996, and it spilled because Dierdre bumped into it with her firm, delicious, mouth watering, firm yet cuddly cleavage, causing the feeder to obstruct the reader, making the stacker bins shoot out mail at such a forceful psi, a Publisher's Clearing House letter zoomed across the room and lodged itself firmly up Big Mama's freakishly wide posterior.
Some GPCs have a thin shell of plastic around the sides and back and seat-belt type black webbing across the front to close the GPC; these usually don't have a top shelf; this type is commonly called a "web" GPC, while the other kind is usually referred to as a "shelf GPC."
This is the machine I hid behind so I could laugh my ass off at the sight of the PCH letter lodged between Big Mama's huge buttocks globes.
On my break, Oatmeal Bob asked me about what I thought of the situation in the Middle East. I showed him my laminated Arab psychotic death cult card collection and said, "What do you think I think of the situation, Bub?"
After break, they showed another safety film, narrated by Bob Saget, former host of "America's Funniest Home Videos." It must have been an old training film because he suggested we "sniff any suspicious mail that is leaking powder to see if it might be cocaine."
Then after I got off work, I went to Walmart and bought an assault weapon and 5,000 rounds of armor piercing ammo. And some Tostitos and spicy queso dip.
Afternoon Report!

Now that my horrid technical problems have been sorted out (knock wood), things are moving along pretty smoothly.
I find comments very encouraging and rejuvenating, so by all means, lurkers and introverts, you are welcome to add some input.
Okay, enough with the gentility.
Where the fuck is Tracy?
As my pimp, I expect her to be draggin' in some ho's for me to holler at.
I am approaching the dreaded nap zone (3-5) where I begin to lose steam, so someone please steam me up, so to speak.
And where are those damn boys?
I have a killer Barcodie parody I've been rat-holing all day.
This evening after sundown, I'll be posting some different kinds of stuff, some autobiographical, some just filler and crappy gibberish, you know, the usual stuff.
Tracy's parody, like all starring acts, will be later on tonight.
If I do hers too soon she'll leave.
Wait, she's already left. Bitch has the attention span of a two-week old Cocker Spaniel.
And it wouldn't kill Grey Bird to fly in and stick her beak in my comments box, either.

Now, I leave you with this inspirational poem:
Yeah, right!

Who is More Annoying?
The Quiz

1. Carrot Top or Tom Green?
2. Donny Osmond or Danny Bonaduce?
3. Pamela Anderson or Kid Rock?
4. Jim Carey or that kid who says, "Dude, you're gettin' a DELL."?
5. Tinky Winky or Barney?
6. Burt Reynolds or William Shatner?
7. RuPaul or Paula Abdul?
8. Celine Dion or Anne Murray?
9. George Jones or Conway Twitty?
10. David Hasselhoff or Erik Estrada?
Welcome to My So-called Life

It's been three weeks since my last blog, but that's because I have either been too busy or not busy enough to have anything new to blog about.
Nothing much is new with me. Let me think...
Oh, I am now anchoring the news and I Clepped out of undergraduate school, so I am now a teaching assistant at Salisbury Steak University, and enrolled in a Master's program for a degree in Women's Obscure Translated Feminist Literature.
Kelly and I are doing fine except she's in Wyoming right now, donating part of her liver to this guy who has a brother whose second cousin once tuned her uncle's car.
In my spare time, I am helping out with tour publicity for this lesbian musical group called The Indigo Girls. There's a really cute one in the band named Amy who has flirted with me several times, but I have Kelly and that wouldn't be right.
Otherwise I am taking it easy this summer. Yay for me!
I have decided to break my engagement with Suzy, but Karen and I don't want anyone to think it's about us. Yay!
Queer Poem Society

After a nice afternoon, trampling around a tree-lined park with my dogs Porky and Beans, I came home and decided to clean my house, which resulted in me sitting in the middle of my 10,000 book library and deciding to eliminate one of my copies of "The Siddhartha Poolside Companion" and three of my extra copies of, "Daughters of a Coral Dawn." After I finished I drove to my whirling dervish lessons and whirled for about 28 minutes, then decided to have coffee with my mystery companion, who I may or may not be having sex with, but not discussing on my blog either way. I am feeling unsociable lately so I have only gone on three dates this week but we are all going to just remain friends because I want to simplify my life. I am on a woman hiatus, so the four dates I have lined up for this weekend will probably result in us becoming just friends, but we can use all the friends we can get, so even though I am in total isolation it's good to get out and meet people, just in case I decide to be sociable again one day. If I do decide to become social again I hope I don't meet any pedophiles or other child abusers along the way because the Buddhist in me is against the death penalty but the feminist in me wants to separate the abuser from his abuse tool (I wish not to attract porno hits or sex freaks so I must remain generic in using "that type" of terminology) so I suppose I am on the horns of a dilemma yet my spiritual leanings encourage me to watch and observe, and as the late Zen master Shunryu Suzuki asked in his new, posthumously published book, "How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? The matter is not the woodchuck, nor the wood, nor the chucking, rather it is the being in the woodchuck moment to comtemplate the chucking, like chopping wood and carrying water, and discovering the True Oneness in the symplicity of that." While I agree with the Zen master in principle, I am sure he never saw WNBA cheater and showboater Lisa Leslie, lest he would take a piece of newly chucked wood and chuck her upside the head with it. This I would not enjoy watching as a Buddhist, but from a WNBA perspective there does exist a certain cleansing harmony in visualizing the action. I have to go now, someone I do not wish to identify is here for dinner and possibly more, but again that is not a topic I will be shharing within blog land. Besides, I am on women hiatus so this probably will not result in any type of activity I'll eventually refuse to discuss.
Get Over Yourself:
A Quick Astrology Guide to Eliminating the Worst Things About Your Sign
Part Two.

Make up your fucking mind. Stop those drinking and exercise binges, neither your liver nor your ass will stay young forever.
Decide what you want to order and stop asking the waiter all those fucking questions. And you are NOT the ultimate arbiter of good taste, so stop turning up your nose at the rest of us uncivilized knuckle draggers.
Just say what's on your mind and stop making us have to guess. That mysterious shit gets old. And don't be so cautious with your money, you really can't take it with you. And you are good in bed, but you don't have to act so cocky about it. All those secrets you keep will eventually make you explode. Spill a few beans.
For someone as spiritually deep and filled with integrity, you can be a sneaky bastard.
And your politics are often too extreme, you cranky old fart! And pay attention when others talk about themselves, don't give us that vacant nod-and-smile shit. If you're bored, just fake it, like the rest of us.
Your house is too cluttered with all those fucking collections of yours. Pick one collection and give us visitors some elbow room. And stop eating all that junk. What are you, a goat? Also, your purse and/or wallet are too stuffed with shit. Thin it out.
"The Age of Aquarius" was just some 70's hippie pothead's drug fantasy, so give it up.
"Desiderata" was just another poem, written way before the world became filled with homicidal maniacs. Go kick someone's ass and stop being everyone's peace dove or bitch. It'll set you free.
Sure, you hide behind that nice looking face, wild sense of humor and easy going, sweet demeanor, but when cornered you can go from goldfish to barracuda in three seconds flat, and you know you can. We are not fooled. Nothing bossier than a femme disguised as a sub, eh T.?
Get Over Yourself:
A Quick Astrology Guide to Eliminating the Worst Things About Your Sign
Part One.

You are a Porsche Turbo in a Ford Escort world. Slow the fuck down, none of us can compute data as fast as you, and you'll just have to wait for the answers to all your urgent questions. You are not the boss of us, except for Grey Bird, who is the boss of my blog.
You lazy, hedonistic bastard! Get up. Turn off the Food Channel. Move away from the computer and throw out all those sentimental little scraps of paper, doodads and little reminders of losers you should have never dated to begin with. I know, I am a slothful, sickeningly sentimental Taurus.
You are not a chattering monkey trapped in a human suit. Stop all that brain twittering and verbal ruminating, and just sit still and do nothing for a few minutes. You're making all of us fucking nuts with all those wacky schemes of yours. Shhh! Be quiet and let us think!
Oh, boo hoo, snap out of it. Taurus Barbara Streisand was just kidding when she sang about "misty watercolor memories." Life is tough, suck it up and bake us a pie or rescue a kitten or puppy....or journal, but please don't make us read it.
The monarchy is fine, but you really aren't royalty. We dig your sexiness, the generous gifts and thoughtful gestures, but once in a while, you give the fucking backrub, damn it.
And don't argue about it, Zeddie and Suzy.
Hey, tightass, ever hear of having fun? Just have some, don't plan it out on a gridsheet, make lists about it or feel guilty about it. Just take those pants off, don't fold them and hang them up first, and try not to imagine God watching you fucking, getting drunk or sending in a payment one day late. Guilt is not your friend.
Oh Boy, Now it's OCD!

I get a little fixated on projects, but anticipating this Blogathon has flung me into a full-blown case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Last night I slept fitfully, my mind searching for more- more- more blog topics.
Then something snapped in my mind and I developed the dreaded "repeating song syndrome."
There I lay, eyes shut, trying to sleep and all I could hear was, "BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN, BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN, BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN, BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN you got me rockin' and a rollin,' rocking and a reelin,' Barber Ann BA BA BA BA BERANN."
I got up to get some water.
I returned to bed, closed my eyes and started to relax. It began again.
"BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN, BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN, BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN, BA BA BA BA BA BER ANN you got me rockin' and a rollin,' rocking and a reelin,' Barber Ann BA BA BA BA BERANN."
The only good to come of that fucking song hammering into my cerebral cortex all night was that it in itself created another blog. This one.
Et voila!

Special Guest Star:

Hoopty's Looped

I was picking my nose and thinking about *BOOBIES* and *HOT DOGS* and then I fell asleep and dreamed I was Anna Freud, sitting on my father's lap and eating a banana.
Whatever that means.
Lemme see your rack! WKen, make them let me see their rackolicious racks.
Gotta get on my skateboard now and go get a hot doggolicious *HOT DOG!!!*
Ow! I gouged a chunk out of my nosehole and now I have bloody boogers!!! Only one cure for that: *BOOBIES*
Early Reflections on Blogging Twice an Hour

This sounded like an easy concept. It is not.
Being prepared in advance with several blogs, I presumed I'd just stick one in every half hour or so while I noodled around online. Not the case.
I try to post and BlogSpot has kicked me completely off-line 60% of the time.
Then AOL decided to get in the act by kicking me off whenever I tried to access BlogSpot.
Meanwhile, James the 40-pound puma keeps jumping on my back and scaring the living shit out of me.
I am 3 hours into this and already:
My hair has turned white
I have a tic in my right eye
I have a full-blown case of TMJ now
I have coffee jitters
I am feeling a little cranky and out of sorts.
I think I'll go fondle my Vegas tickets. That'll cheer me up.

My Emmy Picks

Comedy Series: Friends (sentimental farewell vote)
Drama Series: Six Feet Under
Miniseries: Band of Brothers
Made-for-Television Movie: The Laramie Project
Lead Actor, Comedy Series: Bernie Mac, The Bernie Mac Show
Lead Actor, Drama Series: Peter Krause, Six Feet Under
Lead Actor, Miniseries or a Movie: Albert Finney, The Gathering Storm
Lead Actress, Comedy Series: Sarah Jessica Parker, Sex and the City
Lead Actress, Drama Series: Rachel Griffiths, Six Feet Under
Lead Actress, Miniseries or a Movie: Angela Bassett, The Rosa Parks Story
Supporting Actor, Comedy Series: Sean Hayes, Will & Grace
Supporting Actor, Drama Series: Freddy Rodriguez, Six Feet Under
Supporting Actor, Miniseries or a Movie: Alec Baldwin, Path to War
Supporting Actress, Comedy Series: Megan Mullally, Will & Grace
Supporting Actress, Drama Series: Lauren Ambrose, Six Feet Under
Supporting Actress, Miniseries or a Movie: Joan Allen, The Mists of Avalon
Guest Actor, Comedy Series: Michael Douglas, Will & Grace
Guest Actor, Drama Series: Mark Harmon, The West Wing
Guest Actress, Comedy Series: Glenn Close, Will & Grace
Guest Actress, Drama Series: Illeana Douglas, Six Feet Under
Individual Performance, Variety or Music Program: Jon Stewart, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Variety, Music or Comedy Series: Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher
Nonfiction Series: Biography, A&E
Nonfiction Program (Reality): The Osbournes, MTV
Special Class Program: Survivor
Animated Program (Less Than One Hour): The Simpsons
Directing, Comedy Series: Sex and the City
Directing, Drama Series: Six Feet Under
Writing, Comedy Series: The Bernie Mac Show
Writing, Drama Series: ER
Writing, Variety, Music or Comedy Program: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Casting, Drama Series: Six Feet Under

Today is Zed's birthday!

As many of you know, Zed and I were involved from January until May, in a classic internet, long distance, what-the-hell-were-we-thinking affair.
We remain warm friends and I hope we always will.
She's a very sweet woman, with a kind and gentle soul.
Alas, she is a devout Canadian, but otherwise quite normal.

Happy Birthday, Zeddie.

Your Horoscopes:

If today is your birthday...Your main task this year is to be a catalyst for change, to get things moving, to get people talking. How you go about it is up to you, but generally speaking, you should aim to be provocative, to say things and do things that bring a strong reaction. You may make a few enemies, but you certainly won't be ignored.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22). You have an extra amount of charisma now. Obligations must be re-evaluated, and, if necessary, some will go. Refresh creativity by going to the theater or to a music event. A new love possibility is waiting for you to make the first move.

TODAY'S BIRTHDAY (July 27): You achieve remarkable feats by November. Follow your muse, as your artistry is just about to bring you money and power. A major problem hanging over you is resolved without incident. In January, a new partnership mixes love and business for everyone's gain. Fabulous news about a health issue. New romance is prominent with a witty Gemini or Libra. Your lucky numbers are: 3, 17, 18, 29 and 41.

LEO (July 23-August 22):
Why waste your time on projects that mean nothing? The Pisces Moon encourages you to pursue your dream, impossible as it may be. Even if loved ones won't support you, their understanding is enough.

Today's Romantic Horoscope for Leo
July 27th, 2002
LEO (July 23-August 22): Partners want very different things. This could be awkward indeed if you're both accustomed to getting your way. Never forget that you're in this together, bound by respect and trust. How hard could it be to reach a loving compromise?

Daily Flirt Horoscope for Leo
July 27th, 2002
LEO (July 23-August 22): Just because the honey that's been eyeing you looks good and talks smooth doesn't mean this person is for real. Make sure you air out this cat's past before you start dealing with the present.

Looks like a lot of flirty action coming your way, Zed.
Not on my reblog though, okay? And not with my Cupcake.
Guest Star:


I replaced a vinyl copy of an old Jabberjaws LP with a CD I found for only $3.99.
I was so moved by the Cuban-Swiss-Afro-Danish percussion rhythms, I quickly assumed a classic Yoga asana called "the upward facing dog pose," at which point my three cats became visibly threatened by my canine demeanor.
One of the grabbed and claw swatted at my beard, while the other started sharpening his claws on my Tibetan meditation pillow, and the old female casually sauntered over and urinated on one of my new inline skates.
Being a pacifist, I knew violent retaliation toward my pets was not an option, but since duct tape is like the yin and yang, with a dark side and a light side, I used some to help place the cats into some classic yoga positions of their own.
The older male was coaxed into a Warrior pose, the younger male into a Bridge pose, and the female into a Downward Facing Dog pose.
Because they were quite verbal in expressing their appreciation for this new form of cat exercise, I played the song, "Who Let the Dogs Out" very loudly, so they could time their ecstatic meows to the song's barking chorus, thereby opening their heart chakras to let the love between canine and feline flow in and out.
It is this type of oneness that exemplifies the benefits of Yoga.
Meanwhile, Lance Armstrong is kicking the living hell out of those weakling foreigners, and should have all asses nicely kicked for good by Saturday.
Testing 1 2 fucking 3

BlogSpot has thrown me off a record 6 times since 7 a.m.
This is a fucking test.
Gettin' a little worried here

Blogger doesn't seem to like certain posts I try to publish, they keep booting me off and freezing my screen. Maybe I am sending nervous vibes, I dunno.
Also AOL is very twitchy this morning as well.
I hope someone from both companies realized there might be increased use today with this Blogathon thing. Or is that just wishful thinking?
Guest Blogger Raven?

Look Into My Wiggle

After my fucking seven hour long spin class yesterday, I noticed one of my butt cheeks had actually fucking fallen off.
I found it laying by the spin machine I'd been on, so I just put it back in place on my ass under my super tight spin tights, and went and sat in my fucking hot Jeep until it fucking melted itself back onto my ass.
Then I went and got a tofu no soy no foam no caf no cal ultralight crappuccino from Starfucks, which for some reason tasted like fucking shit.
I foolishly went to the fucking bar last night and drank four Tuacas in a row to brace myself for my fucking ex from fucking Fucklandia who was walking right toward me.
She was all like hi and stuff, so I was about to grab a cue stick and beat her with it until the cute bartender came from behind the bar and held my shoulders, then began to stroke my fucking rock hard pecs and delts through my T-shirt that had BITCH on the front of it in sequins.
So I turned and deep kissed her, then she licked the Tuaca off my chin, then my fucking ex from fucking *HELL* said I didn't have to be so pissy. Well that pissed me off again so I had four more Tuacas, then the band started and they fucking *RULED* so I had fun the rest of the night, but this morning I feel like a fucking bag of weasel shit.
I think I might call my fucking bitch of an ex lover and tell her to fuck off, then maybe go to spin class again today.
Open 24 Hours

When I was little, my family either lived in Texas or California. Twice a year, winter and summer, we drove to whichever place we didn't live for our vacation.
My Dad is/was a compulsive, competitive type, so it was a must that we covered the 1,500 mile trip in 24 hours or less. That's flying, baby.
That meant stopping only for gas/bathroom trips, very quick meals, and when the driver (usually my Dad) got too bleary eyed to drive, pie and coffee at roadside diners.
Somehow I was deputized to keep Daddy awake all night while my mother and big sister snored away, so I got in on a lot of middle of the night pie.
As I grew older, I got extra incentives like getting to drive and smoke cigarettes while I was driving to "stay awake."
Blogging for 24 hours reminds me of the vacation marathons of my childhood, so when I first read about it I figured it would be a variation on that same theme.
I can't eat pie every 4 hours anymore, but there are other things I can substitute.
I can flirt.
I can bitch about Bush.
I can make a million survey lists.
And the best part is, if I fall asleep, there won't be a horrible car wreck.
Good Morning.

And so it begins, 24 hours of nonstop, no holds barred blogging.

I'd like to start by dedicating this Blogathon to Florence, a nurse who devotes her time working throughout the world with my selected charity, Doctors Without Borders.
I don't know Florence, she's Tracy's lover in law and Sorrento's sister.
I don't have to know Florence to know she's got an unselfish heart and extraordinary professional dedication, doing the kind of heart wrenching work few of us would have the guts and stamina to handle. So this Blog's for you, Nurse Florence.

A word about contributions to Doctors Without Borders:
All money pledged to this noble charity goes directly to their organization. Neither BlogSpot nor I see or handle a cent of your contributions.
After the Blogathon is completed and I complete my 24 hour commitment, Sponsors will receive e-mails instructing them how to remit their pledges.

If I write something that makes you laugh, pledge a little.
If I write something that makes you think, pledge a little.
If I write something that makes you angry, you'll get over it!
If you have a topic you'd like me to blog about, tell me, and if I can I'll do it.

I start this day with 31 sponsors and $430 in pledges.
I send sincere gratitude to those who have graced me with their support.

Now, let's get this show on the road!

Friday, July 26, 2002

She May Be Crazy but Damn, She's Got Clout

Tracy, over at Time for Your Meds is in the wrong vocation.
She should have been a high class pimp, otherwise known as a publicist.
One mention of my Blogathon thing tomorrow on her site, and my Sitemeter is jacked up like a rooster on methamphetamines.
I have to go to a dinner party tonight, but I am so amped up about tomorrow I am going to wolf down my dinner, gulp my wine, and cheese it the hell out of there the moment my dessert spoon hits the bottom of the bowl.
I want to be in rare bloggy form for tomorrow morning.
At my age, I can always leave early by claiming some onset of an elderly health condition like acid reflux or even extreme fatigue. My dinner companions are all runners with resting pulse rates of 40, so they won't know from geezer hyperbole.
Anyway, hats off to my friend Tracy for getting the word out about tomorrow.
I promise at least a few right-between-the-eyes blogs.

Oh, and there's still time to cough up a pledge. Even one dollar will matter, and I promise not to expose anyone for being hyper frugal.

See y'all tomorrow, I hope.
Hey, Don't Touch That Fresh Blog!

I have been secretly blogging like a maniac all week, trying to store up some good ones to post in between the inevitably shitty ones I'll post during the Blogathon this Saturday and Sunday.
It reminds me of when I was a kid and my mother was frantically getting food ready for a cocktail party.
"Don't dent the dip!" Mom would scream.
"Those finger sandwiches are for company, get away!"
"Don't mess up my vegetable tray, those black olives are for the party!'
"No sodas, those are for mixers!"

So here I am, saying to myself,
"Well, it wouldn't hurt to just publish the Tracy parody."
"No, you have to wait,"
"Aw, come on."
"No, it's for the Blogathon."

I have turned into my own mother, and I swore that would never happen.

A Little Blogathon Preview...

Martha Stewart to Launch Book Club

The embattled domestic diva isn't letting insider-trading allegations stop her from proceeding with her next project.
The prison sentence that likely awaits the stock market manipulator has gotten her creative, can-do juices flowing.
"I expect to work while I am detained, and it's natural that I should become the mobile literary resource."
Did that mean she intends to snag the prison's coveted "book cart"job?
Stewart smiled but did not reply.
She said she planned to introduce her convict colleagues to a cornucopia of books and magazines of all types.
"I am sure Maya Angelou's lovely ethnic musings will inspire even the worst crack whore," Stewart said.
"I have not read Ms. Angelou's work personally, but I have dined with her and find her a charming credit to her race, or people, as it were" she said.
"My maid Ordelia just loves Maya," she added.
"For thieves and robbers, I am sure "Vanity Fair" will create an aura of prosperity that will inspire them to consider the plight of others, such as embattled millionaires who were wrongly accused of stock trading malfeasance."
She said drug addicts might also be enriched by inspirational books written by pop psychologist, Dr. Phil.
"His direct, no nonsense approach might be just the medicine for these pathetic drug fiends who have been casually tossed from agency to agency, without measurable efficacy," Stewart said. "He certainly kept Oprah out of jail."
"I also intend to add classic literature by authors such as Dante, Homer, Shakespeare, Plato, Julia Child and Patricia Cornwell."
As to the prison's lack of funding for new reading materials, Stewart said, "Surely the administrators have room in their budget for additional books and magazines."
"If not, we may have to settle for Books on Tape."

Thursday, July 25, 2002

That Damn Commercial Is Back

Mitsubishi is running that ad again with the cool song in the background, "Days go on, still I think of you..."
The problem starts when the camera pans in on the passenger girl in the stupid floppy pink hat, while she jerks her elbows and giraffe neck, car-dancing to that tune.
The driver, a jerky looking guy with red, swollen gums, looks on appreciatively.
Turns out that "dance" she is doing has a name: Popping.
I'd like to pop that chick in the face with a wet, rat-tailed gym towel.
"Popping" makes The Macarena look like Russian ballet.
This blog is a non-popping zone. Be warned.
My Sojourn Out

This summer I have managed to totally avoid being outdoors except for retrieving mail and dashing from car to building.
Tonight I decided to grill some steaks outside.
I now have two perfectly grilled filets, six livid, throbbing mosquito bites the size of Hostess Dingdongs, hair that smells like a brisket and sweat in places that a Southern gentlewoman would never mention.
This concludes my outdoorsy summer activities.
It's a jungle out there.
My Mind Has Indeed Snapped

This morning I agreed to meet my sister at 8:45 so we could go see my mom's new retirement home.
Not having an alarm clock, I worried that I would oversleep, so much so, I was awake until 3 a.m. contemplating it.
The full August moon must have been making everyone in the house weird.
Finally I nodded off, only to have my nearly grown 70-pound mountain lion kitty James knock over two glassed candles and a vase while he was patrolling my dresser.
The shock caused him to leap off the dresser and land on my bare thigh, claws out. Still scared, he used my thigh as a catapult to propel himself out of my bedroom at a full gallop. I have some impressive kitty lacerations to show for it.
At 4 a.m., after I calmed his little maniac ass down, we all went back to sleep.
I woke up at 8 on the dot.
Then I did my errands, returned around noon and passed out cold until 4 p.m.
I dreamed I was in Vegas and had spent all my gambling cash, so I was opening my wallet at a cashier's cage to use a credit card to get more cash. I opened it too fast and my credit cards flew out and landed all over the patterned carpet.
I retrieved all but the one I wanted to use, so I woke up in a panic that someone had stolen my card.
The moral is: what the fuck was I doing taking cash off a credit card to compensate for losing all my money? Oy it was a nightmare, for sure.

Wednesday, July 24, 2002

You've Got Mail!

Media giant AOL Time Warner Inc. disclosed Wednesday that the Securities and Exchange Commission was looking into the company's accounting of a series of transactions that may have improperly inflated revenues.
Richard Parsons, the company's chief executive, said in a conference call with investors that the SEC was conducting a "fact-finding" inquiry into several transactions that were reported last week in The Washington Post.
He invited shareholders to e-mail him their concerns at his personal e-mail address,

Blogathon Preps

I went to the grocery store this evening to lay in supplies for this Saturday's Blogathon.
I won't have time to cook, so I had the extreme pleasure of loading up on nothing but snacky things like fruits, energy bars, tiny ice cream sandwiches and more Ranier cherries.
I also threw in some Oreos, a little pack of peanut M&M's, two half gallons of Gatorade, some Jarlsberg cheese, Carr's Table Water Crackers, a box of Basic 4 cereal, a gallon of 1% milk and a 24-case of 16 oz. spring water.
I think this Blogathon will be more like a Blobathon after I gain 10 pounds sitting on my ass blogging and snacking.
I am obsessed, I'll admit it.
The challenge of writing coherently for 24 hours straight is very exciting. I mean, after 16 hours I could start sounding like Hoopty! (no offense, Hoopt).
So far I have picked up 400 bucks in pledges and 29 sponsors. That means for every blog I write, $8.33 will go to Doctors Without Borders, with no middlemen sticking their paws in the basket.
TECHFLUID has a cool Blogathon sponsorship button on her blog- I encourage you generous contributors to post one on yours.

Lesbian Sex, Love and Dating

I have thought about writing a personal blog about my love life, past, and what little there is in the present. After more than 20 years of active, sometimes rampantly hedonistic lesbianism, I have quite a few stories I could tell.
Anyway, I have considered it but then I recall some of the appalling web search topics that have led perverts to my blog, and I had to nix the idea.
I don't want some dimwit jacking off to anything I have done, would like to do, or will do with another woman.
Besides that, I have no short term memory to speak of, and there's no telling to whom I've given this blog address, and I don't want half of people I actually know in San Antonio knowing my bidness.
A guy named wKen has an interesting blog where he often goes into explicit detail about his plentiful sex life.
I read it, and I am conflicted by the eroticism vs. the blatancy of his musings.
I admire his candor and his word prowess, but sometimes I want to lecture him like an old biddy for being such a sexhound, but I never would because it's really none of my bidness.
I just hope he's using safe sex because he seems like a very nice guy.
So, I am sorry I can't allow myself to be wKaren and regale you with amusing sexual romps, but during Blogathon I might get bored and tell about being caught naked with my lover, at midnight on a golf course, by a herd of rampaging, honking, angry guard geese.
Praise Allah, and Check Out Those Tits!

"CNN reported earlier this year that al Qaeda has used at least one website to post information and keeps changing the site's address to stay ahead of investigators.
Authorities also are investigating information from detainees that suggests al Qaeda members -- and possibly even bin Laden -- are hiding messages inside photographic files on pornographic Web sites."

Well, well, well. I guess bin Laden is hiding secret messages in porno pics to keep the faithful servants of Allah's spirits up.
What a crock.
If bin Laden wants to hide messages, he should do it

Tuesday, July 23, 2002

And One More Thing

I used to love "Frasier" but now that Niles and Daphne are a couple, I just can't take it.
He's far too gay to be believable as a straight guy in love with a woman.
Besides, if she's snagged a rich doctor, why is she still living with his brother and working as a PT for the old man?
When Niles kissed Daphne, "Frasier"
Jumped the Shark
"Finger Quotes"

Life would be a lot more pleasant if people would just stop making little quote marks with their fingers when they are telling stories.
I blogged about this last year.
It's just wrong, damn it, and it has to stop.
Is This Weird?

I am a yenta.
I fix people up all the time and I'm pretty good at it.
I seem to be very skilled at putting two people together and being on target, unless I am one of them, then my skills are for shit.
I have this good friend in real life named Larry. He's straight, witty, charming, very handsome, and an aikido master who makes his living off a program he created to teach educators how to teach non violent solutions to angry, aggressive school kids.
He's single but picky, and I have yet to find a woman good enough for him, and if I did he would be reluctant to investigate.

Here's the weird part.

I think he and Mike over at Spacemonk would be soulmates.
Two peas in a purely heterosexual pod.
A buddy movie without guns, car chases or 'pussy' comments.

So my quandary is this. Should I try to fix them up?
Isn't this an amusing dilemma?
Your comments?
Drain Bramage

I woke up this morning thinking it was Saturday.
Why, I don't know, maybe it's because I finally finished a long and tedious project through the weekend, finishing yesterday, and I am finally off today.
Or maybe I am going senile.
To celebrate my happy test results yesterday, my sister offered to take me to any restaurant I wanted next Saturday. I jokingly chose Ruth's Chris steak house, a fabulously expensive restaurant, and to my amazement she quickly agreed.
Then I remembered Blogathon this weekend and had to cancel. Errrr.
I checked the rules. I don't have to blog every half hour, I just have to blog twice every hour.
So that means I can blog two in a row, then catnap or shower or eat or exercise to stay awake. I'll be fine all night, but it's that 3-5 p.m. stretch that worries me. My IQ drops about 40 points in the hot afternoon. Expect some very short, crappy blogs during those hours. Maybe I should go buy an espresso machine.
In other bloggy news, I now have 27 sponsors and $395 in pledges. There is still time to chip in if anyone wants, but I have done all the hard selling I intend to do.
Just picture those sickly infants in Somalia, for whom a doctor's visit could mean life or death. Okay, I am pandering. It's a curse, so sue me.

Monday, July 22, 2002

Whoopee! I'm FREE!

Lefty was faking it!
BOTH my breasts are perfectly all right, totally benign, perky as parakeets and no surgery or further observation is necessary until a routine mammo in six months.
Thank God. I was dreading what may have come next.
Even if it was the worst case scenario, we would have caught it early enough for it to be treated with relative ease and likely success.
Women 40 and over, get your mammos! Men, get your prostates examined.
I'm going to VEGAS!
Lefty's Big Day

My breasts and I are going to the hospital pathology lab later today to get the results of the biopsy I had last week.
I wish it was more like an assembly line, where they do the mammo and sonogram and biopsy and pathology studies and whatever comes next all in one day.
They draw it out like a bad Mexican soap opera, and that just makes it even more
Frankly, by now I am bored with it.
Just tell me what it is and what to do, and if the thing inside needs to be removed, just give me some pills for before and after and otherwise leave me the fuck alone.
I walk down the hospital corridors and strangers ask, "Hey, Karen, how's Lefty?"
The only ones at the hospital who have not gloved up and examined the girls are the janitors and cafeteria people.
I've just about had it.
Spacemonk: My Idea Man

Now Mike's done a book survey for me to steal!

What book has most influenced your outlook on life?
The Associated Press Stylebook

What books are pure fun?
Harry Potter series

What was the hardest book to get thru?
One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez

If you could only read one genre of books what would it be?
Anything by Dominick Dunne, or maybe true crime

Most inspirational book
You Can Heal Your Life, Louise Hay

What book seems simple, but isn't
The Little Prince

Do you carry any books with you?

Which writers have the most fun with words?
Anne Marie McDonald
Miriam Keyes

What book do you like (or think you like) but shamefully have not finished?
If I liked it, I finished it.

What novel have you read the most times?
Harry Potter (all 4), The Catcher in the Rye, Another City Not My Own

What books do you remember from being a kid?
The 21 Balloons, The Little Prince

What is the best autobiography?
Lance Armstrong, Carole Pope

Who is a good read although you disagree with nearly every word?
If I disagree with nearly every word, I don't read it

Who do you mostly agree with, but still makes you cringe a bit?
Al Franken, Molly Ivins

What was the best book you've read about a subject you don't really care about?
Melissa Etheridge's autobiography

Who have you read the most books by:
Dominick Dunne, Jonathan Kellerman, Armistead Maupin, J.K. Rowling, Miriam Keyes

What author's work scares you most?
Thomas Harris

Whose books would you buy the minute they are published?
Dominick Dunne, J.K. Rowling

Whose book made you like an author you thought you hated?
Murder in Brentwood, Mark Furhman
The Road to Perdition

With a story based on a crime novel/comic book and characters loosely associated with 1930s mob leaders Al Capone and Frank Nitti, this movie turned out to be like a lousy gift wrapped in a beautiful box.
Just about everything was good, the acting, the art directing, the historical feel and the beautiful cinematography. The screenplay was not good.
Imagine a gourmet dinner at a sumptuous restaurant, marred by lousy service. You leave full, but somehow unfulfilled.
Tom Hanks as a hitman with a stiff Quaker countenance was just too far off the mark.
I love most mob movies, but not this one.

Sunday, July 21, 2002

Spacemonk: the Best Blogger to Steal From

Movie Survey (with a few additions)

If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life what would it be?
Silence of the Lambs

Who should be forbidden to make movies?
Jim Carey, Tom Green

Which movie has the best music?
The Graduate, The Big Chill, Crooklyn

Who is the best cowboy? Scott Glenn, Jack Palance

Which movies make you laugh every time?
Pulp Fiction, Young Frankenstein, Wallace and Grommit: Wrong Trousers

What movie probably isn't that good, but you love anyway?

What movie character is most like you?
Kathy Bates in "Primary Colors"

Which movie "surprise ending" did not surprise you?
Magnolia. With a film that shitty, raining frogs was no surprise

What movie should they make a sequel for?
Pulp Fiction

Which actor/actress would you watch a movie for no other reason other than that they were in it? Jeremy Irons, Michelle Pfeiffer, Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock, Anthony Hopkins.

What are the best foreign movies ever made?
Like Water for Chocolate, The Wedding Banquet, The Seduction of Mimi, Swept Away

What's the best lesbian movie? The Incredibly True Adventure of 2 Girls in Love and Better than Chocolate.

What's the most erotic scene in any movie?
The Hunger: Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve making love to the opera aria, "Viens Mallika" from Lakme by Delibes.

What are the worst movies ever made? Beloved. Magnolia. The Umbrellas of Cherborg.
Eyes Wide Shut. Claire of the Moon.
Movie Day

Since Queer Poet has blogged about movies, I think this one may pass her rigorous "no haircut blogs" standards.

This afternoon I am going to see, "The Road to Perdition."
I didn't realize it then, but after watching the fabulous AFI tribute to Tom Hanks, I realized I'd not only seen most of his movies, but I own more Tom Hanks videos than any other actor's movies.
I don't consider him my favorite actor, yet I guess he might be.
It could just be he's the luckiest man in show business, getting movies like The Green Mile, BIG, Apollo13, Philadelphia, Saving Private Ryan and Forrest Gump dropped into his lap, but I suspect he created his own luck.
Anyway, he's supposed to be a bad guy in this movie, so that'll be interesting.

Saturday, July 20, 2002

Legally Entitled to Lap Dance Access?

"A quadriplegic sued a Florida strip club because he could not get his wheelchair into its lap-dancing room, his lawyer said.
"Edward Law of Orlando sued the Wildside Adult Sports Cabaret last month, claiming the club violated the Americans with Disabilities Act by excluding him from restrooms, the bar area and the private rooms where dancers offer more-intimate entertainment.
"Law, who filed a separate suit against another Palm Beach club on similar claims, alleged the Wildside's lap-dancing room, separate from the main showroom at the club, was accessible only by a short flight of stairs."

Okay now. If this dirty old man is in a wheelchair, what kind of stripper is gonna be able to straddle the wheelchair arms and give him a lap dance?
And if he's a quadriplegic, is he working? If not, where's he getting the money to afford strip clubs and lap dances?
And no bathroom access? Don't most quads use a catheter? Otherwise, who unzips them and holds their penis while they pee?
Someone needs to release the brake on this chump's chair and roll him off a pier. The Justice system has enough real cases to handle.
An Ordinary Saturday

It's hot and dry outside.
I was watching A&E crime shows and started hankering for a Parrot Ice, which is sort of a fancy Icee, with better flavorings and more icy goodness.
So I crawled into my car, which was hot enough inside to fire pottery, and went in search of a Parrot Ice. I was hoping for a Jamaica me Crazy flavor just because the name is so cool, but any flavor would have been fine.
The first convenience store had an Icee machine and that just wasn't going to cut it.
The second one had a Parrot Ice machine, but it was not in service.
It was just too hot to continue my search.
Dejected, I decided on a whim to cross the street and go to the KFC to try their much touted popcorn chicken. I had very low expectations.
I ordered a small one and the package was very cute, like a tiny movie popcorn box.
It didn't seem like it would hold many chunks, but it was surprisingly full.
I got home, opened it, and I am astounded to say they were really good. I think it'd be great to shlep a bigger box to a party when they expect you to bring something.
In another consumer report, seedless watermelons do exist, and one I recently bought turned out really sweet and indeed seedless.
One more thing. The other day I bought some fabulous Ranier cherries for only $2.99 a pound. So cheap was the cost, I bought 2.56 pounds. The criminal checkout boy charged me $4.50 a pound and I was home by the time I discovered the crime.
So I went back and got a $3.84 refund.
The moral:
Parrot Ice: hard to find, but good
KFC popcorn chicken: good
Seedless watermelon: good