Monday, September 30, 2002

Mama Mia!

Today marks the official move. My 89-year-old mother moves from Austin to San Antonio into a retirement community 2.5 miles from me.
Already I have been designated her welcoming committee, i.e., the one who has to stay with her tonight so she can get acclimated with family around.
This should put my non smoking to the test. Six days smoke free and I am doing well. Yesterday I might have caved had I been around smoke, but I wasn't, so I didn't.
Anyhow, between Mama and a business meeting and pushing up my editorial schedule so I can go on vacation mid-month, I am busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest.
In other news, it looks like the Goddess and I are kaput.
We had sort of an informal butch/femme agreement: She got to bitch, moan and whine all she wanted until I got tired of it, then she was 'supposed to' discern from the tone of my voice when it was time to simmer down.
She apparently talked right past that tonal change, and right past the louder and more emphatic tonal changes as well.
I am usually quite patient with cranky femmes, but when a nothing incident turns into a huge crisis, I get impatient fast.
And when I hear someone use the word "over" in any permutation, I am done.
I hate games and the, "I'm over, we're over, it's over" game played during a petty squabble is just poison to my security, faith and ability to trust.
Oh, I am sure she'd have an entirely different story to tell, but then this is my blog, not hers. The truth is always somewhere in the middle.
She's a wonderful woman with many assets and a great joie de vivre, but she needs to learn when to simmer the hell down if she wants to be respected, adored and pampered.
Otherwise, all is fine in The No Smoking Zone.
Soprano Slump?

I don't know who or what was behind last night's Sopranos episode, but it certainly left something to be desired. Seems like it was a mishmash of plot setups and nothing more.
The only memorable, hilarious scene was Tony's sister Jan treating her slimy bed partner Ralphie Cifaretto like a cheap hooker. If they want to find where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, Jan's skanky love canal would be a good place to start.
Jan's reaction to Ralphie leaving his wife and moving in with her was a little over the top.
I don't care how connected she is, you just don't kick an armed man down the stairs.
Furthermore, I didn't get the native American/Columbus Day subplot. I doubt made guys are going to draw attention to themselves by scuffling with NateAms over a parade.
Also, where was Tony's shrink appointment? I don't give a damn about seeing Dr. Melfi with her ex husband.
And what about the food? We need close-ups of all that pasta and cheese so we can live vicariously while we eat our healthy chicken and salads in front of the TV.
And why was Furio, the pony tailed Italian cheesemaker/enforcer bringing cookies to Carmella? Was that some kind of foreshadowing? Better not be.
Where was acting capo Christopher and what happened after the feds questioned his fiancee Adriana? Is he still shooting heroin between his toes? Is she still in FBI custody? Let's clean up the loose ends here, goombas.
Finally, I don't see why Nostradamus Bobby's wife Karen had to be killed in a car wreck. What, is he going to be an eligible bachelor now? Will Jan cut her evil eyes his way?

Sunday, September 29, 2002

The Night Listener

They say when the student is ready, the teacher appears.
I am so glad I happened upon this book, "The Night Listener" by Armistead Maupin, because it's about finding love, then having the reality of that love cast into doubt, then having to suspend all doubt and common sense and decide to love anyway.
I don't think I have that skill, not yet.
I take some pretty daring emotional risks, but it's hard for me to love past too many red flags and so easy for me to run when I smell fear in someone else.
I am just toward the end of the book, so I don't even know if the protagonist's decision was worth it.
I heard the opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.
I think the true opposite of love may be fear. I think fear makes us set up impossible scenarios that insulate us from our fear of loving.
Little things can become great monuments to self protection, and it's easier to bail than face our demons or fears.
This book exposes all that and more. It's no accident I found it.

Friday, September 27, 2002

The Test and Afterwards

Nurse: So, you are here for an HIV test?
Me: Uh huh.
Nurse: Have you been tested before?
Me: Yep, last year.
Nurse: What makes you come for another test? Have you done anything risky over the last year that makes you think you've been exposed to HIV?
Me: No, I'm a lesbian.
Nurse: So, no oral sex with your female partner(s)?
Me: Uhh, it always pays to get tested before starting a new relationship, you know? Lesbians can get it, too, you know.
Nurse: Yeah, I know they can. So, no sex with men, bisexuals or IV needle users?
Me: Nope.
Nurse: So, just unprotected oral sex with a woman?
Me: Hey, I like your shoes, are those comfortable?
Nurse: Oh yeah, I really like them.
Me: Well, they look good. I just bought some cool, red shoes. Hey, speaking of which, can I hold that red rubber ball when you tap my blood?
Nurse: Sure you can. It has a smiley face on it, see? Ready to get started?
Me: Absolutely! Uhh, that's a clean needle, right?
Nurse: Yep, just opened it. Want me to open a new one in front of you?
Me: Nah, I just wanted you to see how careful I am.
Nurse: Except for the unprotected oral sex...
Me: Uhh, I got these shoes from Land's End, and they only cost $29.99!

I went to the bookstore afterwards to reward myself for being such a responsible citizen (and doing what The Goddess told me to do).
I needed to find the ultimate vacation book, to read on the beach or front porch of our cozy little inn, while the Goddess fetches me cups of herb tea (as if).
I managed to find not one, but two perfect vacation books.
"The Last Chance Saloon" by Marian Keys, is so funny I started to sample it over lunch at Whole Foods and kept laughing out loud and embarrassing myself.
Then I found Armistead Maupin's newest book, "The Night Listener," which I thumbed through when I got home. As usual with his work, I want to devour this book in one sitting.
I should save the Maupin book for vacation, so I can hand it over to the Goddess when I finish it, but the Keyes book will be the easier, breezier read and I can read to her the funny parts, make her laugh and get the credit for being funny.
Rush out and buy both books. They look extremely promising.
Enter the Dragon Squirrel

Uh huh.
Two Chinese Knock You Out pills at 11 p.m., and by 2 a.m. here I am, twitching my tail and looking for nuts. Alas, Grey Bird is not signed on right now.
I think these pills must have been mislabeled. They should be called Brief Nap then Great Vigour pills. Or maybe it's all the increased circulation and oxygenation my brain and body are getting from not smoking that are keeping me awake.
I woke up and started thinking about Maine.
Will we like the inn? Will the beach be nice? Will it be too cold to walk the Marginal Way? Will the steamers be good? Will L.L. Bean have anything I really want, and will it be on sale? Should I pack the shirt with the little pine cones on it? Will the clam chowder bowl be too big and fill me up before my lobster comes?
I can't afford to stay up all night pondering.
Tomorrow I have interviews to do and stories to start.
Then in the afternoon I scheduled an HIV test. Oh, I know I don't have HIV or AIDS, but even lesbians need to get checked every year or so just to be sure. We lesbians are no longer The Chosen Ones who don't contract HIV. The Goddess is getting one, too. :)
In the fall, Ben and Jerry's makes this apple cinnamon ice cream I think they only sell in New England. She and I have big plans regarding Ben, Jerry and a couple of big spoons.

Well...since it's too early to start packing, I guess I better mosey on back to bed. Too bad I already finished the horrible book "Affinity," that would knock out a charging rhino.

Thursday, September 26, 2002

Survivor Scoop

To start out my Survivor update, let's dish some dirt, starting with the drunk dentist and the porn boy.
Now that we have learned the Dallas dental student and the Harry Hamlin lookalike-used car salesman have a spicy past, let's pause and have a moment of silence for Tanya, whose visceral aversity to seafood caused her to puke more than a locker room full of Dallas cheerleaders.
I was thinking that nerdy Clay would get the boot from the Geezer tribe, but no, it was between Old Salty Helen and pukey girl Tanya.
Tanya had on baggy cargo pants, yet as she dejectedly walked toward Jeff Probst to get her torch snuffed, I saw a definite, gigantic camel toe. What a way to say good-bye.
The Geezer tribe is now two down. The no brains and all brawn team is leading.
Penny, the Plano blonde is actually very pretty. She's now the prettiest one on the show after poor Tanya puked her way out.
Must be something in the water that makes Dallas girls so damn pretty.

No Knock Me Out

My new Chinese Knock-You-Out Pills failed to knock me out last night.
After a scintillating goodnight chat with the Goddess (while I was awaiting the pills to kick in), I said goodnight and clicked off the light.
I fell fast asleep. No bad dream, no good dream, like they said.
By 3 a.m. I was awake as a squirrel on acid.
So I called all my credit card companies and got my balances.
Then I started thinking, "I must have a piece of rolling luggage."
So I dug the Sunday paper out of the recycling bin and started looking for a deal.
Bam! Walmart had an American Tourister priced reasonably.
By 3:30 a.m., I was wearing my new red sports mocs and driving down the freeway like Toonces the Cat to the 24-hour Wallyworld.
Wallyworld after 3 a.m. is totally creepy. Some geek with a floor waxer that sounded and looked exactly like a lawnmower followed me all over the store, just trying to make me flip out.
I ignored him. I was on a mission.
I selected a suitcase large enough for a six week trip to Antarctica. It's so big it has actual Michelin tires on it, and a beeping device for backing up. I had to get license plates for it and put a rider on my car insurance policy. It took up my entire car trunk.
I stopped at one of those fancy Exxon Mini Marts on the way home, planning to get a cup of coffee. They were blasting, "I'm Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves, so that woke me up more. You can't hear that song without wanting a muffin, so I got a blueberry muffin the size of a softball.
I am neither cranky nor nervous from smoke cessation. The only side effect I can see so far is I've apparently lost my mind.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

The West Wing

I am watching TWW tonight and thinking of my favorite thing that happened when the Democrats turned the White House over to the Bush people.
The departing Democrats pried all the "w" keys off White House computers.
It's a Miracle!

I feel almost 100 percent better today.
Between acupuncture and herbs and eliminating inhalation of hot smoke several times a day, I awakened this morning fully rested, no insomnia, my muscles were relaxed, and get this- I lost a pound (water weight-but who cares).
Screw cold turkey, give me a jump start on quitting cigarettes any day.
The Goddess and I finally talked late last night.
She was expecting a bear, what she got was more of a pathetic, bleating sheep. She was good with me, made me laugh as usual.
The thing about detoxing through Traditional Chinese Medicine is the results are super fast. The first day is the worst in terms of altered perceptions, cravings, sloughing off toxins and just being crazed in general.
The body adjusts to the recirculation of energy the needling causes, the stop smoking herbs accelerate cleansing energies and the body starts to go into overdrive.
All I know is, I awakened in a state of relaxation and harmony I'd not had in years, in fact, not since I was meditating regularly.
Jeeze, I feel like Mike from Spacemonk. :)

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

The Latest Withdrawal News

Okay. I felt guilty after the Nutella slathered banana and half a candy bar, so I have limited myself to one can of Coke, a fist sized bunch of grapes, four Wheat Thins
and three half-liters of bottled water.
My body temp has been bouncing between hot and normal. My throat is draining what appears to be melted asbestos particles. My right lung is clearing out and my left lung is trying to figure out what's going on.
I am sure there must be some old carbon dioxide particles dislodging somewhere in this disgusting pulmonary cleanup process. Thank God these Chinese herbs cause the user to pee most of it out instead of having to hawk much up.
The spot where my right tonsil used to be is red and it hurts.
My hair is sticking up on the left side. Must have been a turbulent naptime.

My new Chinese knock-you-out pills are labeled in all Chinese except for a brief explanation in Engrish:
"Clinical tests have shown this product to have three advantages as follows:
1) It enables one to fall asleep in 30-50 minutes.
2) When sleeping, the user dreams no terrible dreams, or he has not any dreams.
3) After awaking, he feels full of vigour.
Dosage: Once a day, 1-2 capsules each time, to be taken just before going to bed, with cool boiled water."
Gee, I wonder if I have to boil my bottled water?

The Goddess said she'd call me before bedtime. I am sure she'll time it for right after I take my Chinese knock-you-out pills, so she can sidestep any growling or fussiness.
Truth is, I feel pretty calm- just disjointed and floaty and not quite in my right mind.
She oughtta be getting used to that by now. :)
I Need a Fix 'Cause I'm Goin' Down...

Okay, maybe I am being a little dramatic here, but these stop smoking herbs are making all the lung crud break up and I am clearing my throat more than I am inhaling and exhaling.
I feel a little like someone slipped me some magic mushrooms, except I am lacking the "goddam, this is fun" part.
Instead of a cigarette, I have indulged my addict self with a piece of watermelon, a banana smeared with a little Nutella and half a Cadbury fruit and nut bar.
My poor, sweet sister suggested I give up sugar and dairy while I was kicking.
I just nodded submissively, knowing that unsweetened herb tea and miso soup was not gonna cut it for me.
I went and had a burger and fries after I left The House of Needles. I just had to get Western again!
The acupuncture didn't hurt, there were just many, many needles in use and if I moved a limb or constricted a muscle, the area would start to twitch. She had one in my third eye I actually blew out without touching. Even she was surprised.
The coolest part is she used actual lotus seeds along my ear canal. She uses a flesh colored tape to adhere the little seeds along pressure points. When I start jonesing, all I do is press hard on one or more of the seeds and they send endorphins out.
Needless to say, I am pressing them every 45 seconds or so.
Meanwhile the Goddess is M.I.A.
Smart girl, she knew to stay busy and out of pocket this first evening. She'll call later on when I am half asleep and docile, no doubt.

In anticipation of a few days of withdrawal-induced bitchiness, here's what bugs are up my ass today.
Old Navy.
They are way too slow in processing orders. I ordered stuff from them, L.L. Bean and Land's End last week and they are the last to even put the shit in a box, much less mail it. My new Land's End sports mocs arrived yesterday, and Old Navy is still looking for a fucking box to throw my stuff into. Fucking fucks.
Cordless phones.
The Goddess has a cordless phone that senses when things are getting good and starts to beep, then goes dead without notice. I hate that fucking phone. I hate all cordless phones and cell phones. Brain tumors just waiting to happen.
When you say you'll have service back on at 9:30, that's 9:30, not 11:00. Sure you're free, but ads pay for our subscriptions, and you wont sell as many with people bailing out on you.
One of my neighbors over the back fence keeps detonating some kind of explosive and making big ass kabooms about every other day. My kitties get nervous and take it out on the furniture ...and each other. One more kaboom and I may have to drop a dime on some daredevilish idiot.
Why are there no cookies in my home? What was I thinking when I came home cookieless from the grocery store? If I could stand up and kick my own ass, I would.
Welcome the wKen Show

After reading his blog for ages now, I decided to add him as a link.
He's a bad boy but a sincere boy, and he writes like a pro.
Pay his site a visit, reblog, and tell him I sent you.
Welcome aboard, compadre.

Monday, September 23, 2002

Tuesday's the Day

I stopped smoking last year.
I restarted sometime in March, when I was anticipating going to Vegas with my sisters.
Then over the summer, I kept smoking on and off, the excuse I used was because my siblings were making me nutty over assisted living arrangements for my Mom. Or because Zed and I didn't work out. Or because Robert died.
There's always a good excuse when you're not ready to quit.
Then I was ready to quit again, and Cris and I went to Vegas. You can't not smoke in Vegas.
Then I got back and blah, blah, blah, still smoked.
So it's time to quit again.
My lungs don't like it.
It stinks.
I hate it.
My oncologist would shit if she knew. I have to make a regular doctor's appointment before I leave on vacation, and she'll shit if she knows.
The Goddess hates smoke. That's one more very pleasant incentive.
So, tomorrow I will present myself to my sister the Chinese medical doctor and let her needle me from head to toe. She will also prescribe some incredible stop smoking herbs that worked great before. I will also get some Nicorette, some fancy little British hard candies and another case of water.
I now have 16 cigarettes in my possession. By 2 p.m. tomorrow, they will either be smoked up or thrown away. Ash trays will be washed and hidden away. Carpeting will be vacuumed and dusted with some smoke neutralizing powder. The kitties will get sponge baths, just in case they have smoke smell in their fur.
Within three weeks, the jones will be pretty much gone. Walking on the beach with the Goddess will help ease any residual cravings, or at least replace nicotine cravings with some healthier ones.
It's a done deal. No more smoking.
Flashing Ads

I hate flashing Internet ads, like those that pop up occasionally on Blogger.
They are like strobe lights, which have been known to prompt seizures in epileptics.
Whatever they trigger in my brain is quite unpleasant. I am a Taurus, maybe it's the human equivalent of waving a red cape in my face.
Whatever it is, I hate it.
Strobe ads or not, I am inexplicably feeling slightly ornery today.
My pal Patricia called with a long line of potential new remedies for my electrical problems. Check the fuses, check the A/C plug to see how it's wired, switch the ground wire on the new 220 outlet to the hot side like Robert my dead helper had done before, blah, blah, blah. I just told her today was not my day for pondering the mysteries of electricity.
I think the flashing strobe ads have given me a subliminal headache. I don't have a headache per se, I just feel like I could get a headache if I have to ponder anything more complicated than having a Coke or a Sprite.
The Goddess has a Cancer rising sign. That means the Moon's cycles affect her more than the average bear. She's been a mite wistful lately.
The autumn equinox started yesterday and we had a full moon on Saturday. My astrologer buddy Gare mentioned us being in Mercury retrograde until early October.
The Goddess is waxing under these conditions, while I am waning. She's showing lots more emotional vulnerability than usual, which I find endearing.
I tend to lie low and guard myself when the moon's G forces start to act up.
My new shoes have helped to mitigate my lunacy. The strobe ads have done the opposite.
The Goddess makes me want to get over this lunar nuttiness. She's worth the effort, so I believe I will.
It helps that I am wearing my new red shoes today.
Do the seasonal cycles and moon phases affect any of you?

Bloggy Monday

I was up until 3, rolling around in bed with no particular place to I ended up sleeping till an embarrassingly late hour. Too late to find a dryer fixer/electrician, that's for sure.
I may have to just go to a laundromat, the opposite of Hemingway's version of "a clean, well lighted space." I have a clothesline in my back yard but our water here is so hard, line dried clothes come out too stiff and wrinkled.

My travel plans have reached a pleasant denouement.
Now all I have to do is lay low until mid October and try to avoid my tendency to overcomplicate a potential relationship by subjecting it to more analysis than a powdery envelope in the White House mail room.
The Goddess is a good woman. I am just going to roll with what is and not contemplate the past or the future. The only power any of us has is in the present moment anyway.
I seemed to have lost another pound over the weekend, which delights me since an unopened, freshly delivered FedEx box of Old Navy clothes in smaller sizes awaits me in the living room.
I can't believe how doing just three daily reps of 12 with 10 pound dumbbells has perked up my metabolism.
My exercise physiologist and I discovered aerobic exercise didn't give me the endorphins it gives so many others. It's something about slow versus fast twitch muscles. I can't remember for sure, but I think I have slow twitchers.
I can ride a stationary bike 10 miles, and afterwards I just feel sweaty and spent. Fifteen minutes of weight lifting makes me feel like I can walk through a wall afterwards.
Gaining endorphins is not the be-all and end-all for exercisers, but without the immediate payoff of the endorphin buzz, I'm just not interested.

Sunday, September 22, 2002

Adulthood: I Hate It

My day so far has revolved around my dryer and my home's 220 wiring.
After my pal Patricia and I actually *REPLACED* the 200 dryer outlet (I was in charge of turning the screws) we plugged in the dryer and hit the go button.
Now not only does it not heat, now it no longer even turns on.
I am disgusted. Now I have to find a goon to come figure things out and undo what we did.
All my men friends, gay and straight, are French poodles who don't know electrical from Shinola. All my women friends are about as mechanically inclined as I am.
Now I am a sitting duck- at the mercy of a fast talking, slow moving electrician.
Woe is me...

Saturday, September 21, 2002

Anagrams Tell the Tale

• Saddam Hussein:
dada mushiness
had mad sinuses
hindus amassed
minus sad heads

• George W. Bush
whose bugger
show, urge, beg
he grew bogus

• Osama bin Laden
a nailed S.O.B., man

• Donald Rumsfeld
muddles for land
sudden flam lord

• Condaleezza Rice
nazi coerced zeal
coined zeal craze

• Yasser Arafat
say fart areas
east rats afar

• Ariel Sharon
lions rear, ha
Gotta Getaway

The Goddess and I have started planning a little getaway for mid October.
We came up with a reasonable plan, going to Ogunquit, Maine for a 4-day weekend.
At my age, I cannot tolerate camping or rough accommodations where you can sand the paint off a car with the bath towels. I need clean sheets, room service and HBO.
Finding a decent place in Ogunquit for under a jillion dollars has been challenging, so we broadened our search up and down the southern coast of Maine, stopping short of Kennebunkport, because as Democrats we don't want to get GOP cooties.
Also, I have a mortal fear of running into Barbara Bush. I think she has magic abilities to read malevolent thoughts projected toward her, and she could easily kick my ass.
The Goddess has a short attention span for idle pastimes like just sitting around and talking. She's very task oriented, so she's been searching for lodging like a determined eagle hen looking for nesting materials.
I, her semi retarded buzzard administrative assistant, have been charged with keeping a mental list of her favorites. I haven't told her I have trouble keeping a mental list of where I put my shoes, but that's a little detail she'll discover soon enough.
As our search became more broadbased and exhaustive, the Goddess came up with Salem, Massachusetts. Seems the witches get a little greedy around Halloween, so that's not so likely a destination.
Now we are exploring Southern Mass, like Cape Cod and those areas. We have avoided Provincetown because we'd like to spend some time alone together without 10,000 lesbians around to pretend we are not eyeing.
She also found Block Island, off the coast of Rhode Island. It's beautiful, but lodging there runs roughly the same as the GNP of Zimbabwe. It's some sort of sanctuary for all things natural, so like all places I'm sure it has a Starbucks by now. Just getting there on the ferry runs $80 roundtrip. So, ixnay on Ock-blay.
If anyone out there has any ideas, we are open to them. I hate Connecticut and New Hampshire, so try to stay in the Massachusetts/Maine locations.

Thursday, September 19, 2002

Survivor Impressions, Part 2

The men:
• Robb: What an immature, annoying asshole. He's hyper as a monkey, dumb as a post and creepy as Tommy Lee. He fought with Shii Ann, and lost. He's next, the little punk ass bitch.
• Brian: (former soft porn actor) Bland-o, platitude spewing, fake L.A. smile. Under the radar for a few episodes at least.
• Ted: Yum, a big black man with heart, muscles and pure sweetness. He's a keeper.
• Clay: Think Casper Milquetoast. Wears his pants too high. Goofy and annoying panty waist. Kill him.
••John, 40, married pastor, Slidell, LA. Luxury item: Christian flag. GONE.
• Jake: Part J.R. Ewing and part pig farmer. He'll stay around a long while, might even win if he's physically strong enough.
• Jed: What the fuck is wrong with his chest? It's got a big crevice in the center. He's a moody boy. He's not gonna play well with others.
• Ken: He's a sweetheart, a good guy, a team player and already ahead because he's NYPD. I think he's gonna win.
Survivor Thailand: Impressions
Part One

Okay, first, I want to take a bow for getting John right as the first to get booted.
He had a tense face and he was too bossy. Farewell Reverend John, and don't forget to take your Christian flag with you. Ha!

Women Impressions:
• Erin: She's a dip but she's a cute dip, so she'll fly under the radar a while.
• Tanya: If she'd refrain from talking, she'd be gorgeous. However, she will not and her accent is so jarring it made my left eye tic. D-U-M-B.
• Ghandia: Poor dear fucked up and lost her team immunity. But she's so damn sweet and lovable, all but one forgave her.
• Penny: Who? Zzzz.
• Shii Ann: A spicy little wonton. She topped that idiot skateboard boy in a spat.
• Helen: Egads, what a face. Her scowl and general unsightliness will get her the boot sooner rather than later.
• Stephanie: This bitch is crazy. She got buck nekkid and went in that snakey water at night. Gerry's replacement, with balls bigger than Ethan's.
• Jan: Little old lady city. One dangerous challenge and Granny will be out. If she's 53, I am 32. Poor old thing won't last.
It's a Bitch Being Butch.

Problem: new dryer fails to blow warm air and the timer doesn't work.
Solution: go to appliance store, ask the guy to come fix it.

Problem: he says it's cheaper just to get a new one.
Solution: fuck him, it is a new one. I call someone else.

Problem: guy comes over, tests 220 outlet, one side is dead. He doesn't do electrical repairs.
Solution: I drive to hardware store and try to buy new outlet from the big dyke clerk.

Problem: They stock two kinds, with totally different holes.
Solution: I ask which technology is oldest, and buy that one.

Problem: I am scared of electricity.
Solution: call Patricia, a Cajun femme who is scared of nothing.

Problem: she laughs at me for being scared.
Solution: I ignore the laughter and ask her to fix it.

Problem: she will laugh at me some more.
Solution: at least my butchy clothes will be dry.
My Prediction for Tonight's Survivor

I think either John or Robb will be the first to go.
Between the skateboard and the Christian flag, these two just have to be the most annoying.

Wednesday, September 18, 2002


Don't call or look for me online.
Thursday night is the season opener for Survivor and I am going to be glued to the TV.

The women:
Erin, 26, a single Realtor from Austin, Texas. Luxury item: body paint.
Tanya, 27, a single social worker from Gray TN. Luxury item: a brush.
Ghandia, 33, married, legal secretary from Denver, CO. Luxury item: lucky keychain.
Penny, 27, an engaged sales rep from Plano, TX. Luxury item: pajamas.
Shii Ann, 28. Single recruiter, NYC. Luxury item: lucky bag.
Helen, 47, married, Navy instructor, Rhode Island. Luxury item: daughter's doll.
Stephanie, 29, single firefighter from Arkansas. Luxury item: fuzzy slippers.
Jan, 53, married Tampa teacher. Luxury item: family photo.
The men:
Robb, 23, single bartender, Scottsdale, AZ. Luxury item: skateboard.
Brian, 34, married car salesman (former porn actor) CA. Luxury item: guitar & pick.
Ted, 37 married software developer, Durham, NC. Luxury item: Shaving kit.
Clay, 46, married restaurateur, Monroe, LA. Luxury item: golf club & ball
John, 40, married pastor, Slidell, LA. Luxury item: Christian flag.
Jake, 60, married land broker, Mc Kinney, Texas. Luxury item: journal and pen.
Jed, 25, single dental student, Dallas. Luxury item: Frisbee.
Ken, 30, single NYPD cop, Brooklyn. Luxury item: NYPD shield.

I will post my impressions after the show.
8 p.m. est 7 p.m. central
Watch it with me. Let's talk.
Blog Casserole™

I have tried to think of blog topics all day and I am totally blank. So I decided to just throw in some odds and ends and see what turns out.

• Work
Just as I completed all my assignments for the magazine, my client has decided she wants one more piece to fill a hole. I will refrain from making any references to
"a hole" because she's not an a-hole, per se, she just wants another article. So I am stuck here, awaiting a courier to bring me an envelope full of crap to make into an article.
• My coffeemaker
As I write this, my Braun coffeemaker is emitting the acrid scent of CLR cleanser. It was starting to brew coffee so slowly, by the time it was ready I had already had a Coke to get caffeined up. I love CLR. It stinks, but it certainly dissolves the hard water crud we have here in San Antonio.
• Dr. Phil
He has a new show. Today he's talking to and about fat kids. He's gentle with kids, which is a relief. I have seen him eat the faces off adults.
• The Goddess
I don't have to think much about how things are going. It feels great, and she's smart about keeping healthy boundaries. We are becoming really close friends first and the romantic attraction is just icing on the cake. She makes me laugh every single day.
• Movies
Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon have done a movie together, "The Banger Sisters," about old rock groupies. I wonder if it's my age that makes me want to see the movie, or are they really two hot old broads?
• James
He has this routine I just love. He crawls up on me when I am reading in bed. He lays down on my stomach and chest, then he kisses me on my chin, then I scratch his ears, cheeks and chin, then he starts purring and smiles. I am not kidding, the corners of his little cat mouth turn up.

Tuesday, September 17, 2002

I Can't Help It

Today as I was opening snail mail, I received a replacement VISA card for one that was about to expire. My credit limit had been increased!
So there I sit, shiny new platinum VISA in my left hand, Land's End catalog in my right. A voice appeared in my head, buy more shoes it said.
So I called the nice Land's End lady and ordered them in navy. She said they were really comfortable and easy to wipe clean, so I also ordered the tan ones. Then she said they run out fast so I was smart to order them now, so I ordered the red ones, too.
That bitch could SELL SHOES, I tell you.

Rosie O'MyGod

While waiting at the grocery store checkout stand recently, I noticed a copy of the Globe tabloid with a huge photo of Rosie O'Donnell on the cover. Her hair was nearly all clipped off and she's beefed up considerably.
Yep, just as I thought, Ro is a big butch.
Amazing how her show goes off the air and suddenly she becomes who she really is: a big, rich, happy dyke with three kids and a pregnant wife. I applaud her for her openness, but I wouldn't want to date her now that she's slid wayyy further to the right on the femme/butch scale.
On A&E over the weekend, they did a profile on Ronald Reagan.
They included a segment on John Hinkley's assassination attempt, which we all know he did to impress Jodie Foster, one of our few remaining closeted lesbian celebrities.
In a brief clip, they showed a statement Foster had made from her home at Yale University. She still had a post-teen, round babyface and a gruff little baby butch attitude.
Now she's got that sort of tailored Katherine Hepburn thing going on, but then I always wondered about Kate, too.
Funny that Jodie won an Oscar as the incredibly brave and resourceful, herringbone blazer wearing, non-dating Clarise Starling, opposite the slightly faggelah Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter.
Note that she was not nominated for "Anna and the King," where she flounced around in hoop skirts. Huh uh. Nobody in the Academy bought it.
When she appeared on the X Files as a disembodied voice, nobody mentioned that she and Jillian Anderson were dating at the time, but it's true.
I wish Jodie would just come out and be done with it.
We dykes need a PR boost after we gave faux lesbians Anne Heche and Julie Cypher back to the heteros, and Jodie would be the perfect one to give us that boost we need.

Monday, September 16, 2002

How Did I Miss This?

Has anyone seen "Waiting for Guffman"?
It's on Showtime right now and it's pretty funny, kind of like "Best in Show."
I am still on my movie watching jag, even though "Metropolis" nearly knocked me off it.
Anyway, if you liked "Best in Show," then you ought to rent this Guffman thing.

Nostradamis/Notre Dame

Okay, I don't want to spoil this for people who didn't see The Sopranos last night, but for those who did, was that not the most hilarious scene ever?
And that guy had just gotten a promotion!
Monday: Drizzly and Cool

Perfect musing weather outside today. Cool humidity is very soothing to me, for some reason. I may actually go for a walk later.
Last night's opener for the Sopranos was simply fabulous. Tony was on a tear, Carmella was demanding, the wiseguys were acting up. Perfect, I tell you.
My friend Patricia and I had some nice penne Bolognese to get us in the mood.
I taped Six Feet Under, the Sopranos and Showtime's new show, "Street Time" for the shampoo ad woman.
Speaking of whom, that name is too long, so from now on I'll just call her the Goddess, since that's what she looks and acts like.
If Chari can have the Princess, I sure as hell can have the Goddess.
The Goddess told me her idea of a great time would be to go to D.C. and spend days wandering through the Smithsonian. I just swooned.
I've only been to the Smithsonian once, with my impatient sister, and all I got to see was the aviation wing. How I'd love to spend days there and cover every square foot, feasting my eyes on all that history, especially with someone who shares that interest.
If you know of any particularly wing of the Smithsonian that's really worth a look, reblog the details. I suspect I'll be sneaking up there before the year ends.
Have you ever felt like life has put you in a holding pattern, where you get to pause and revel in good health, prosperity and a new romance? That feeling has dropped into my lap recently and it feels wonderful.

Sunday, September 15, 2002

Okay, I Can Admit It

Though I don't exactly credit Dubya for coming up with the plan to force the UN's hand at enforcing Iraq's agreement to allow inspectors in to check for nuclear (or as Dubya would say, nuculer) arms manufacturing, I have to say it was *someone's* good plan.
Now the UN can either put some teeth in its orders or slink away and show the world they are obsolete at maintaining world peace, then stand aside and let the U.S. kick some ass.
The ball is in their court.
Still, I don't see why suddenly war against Saddam is such an emergency when he's already defied UN demands 16 times.
Seems to me, Daddy Bush should have laid down the law while we still had the equipment, personnel and catering trucks over there.
But this latest thing was still a pretty good plan.
Procrastination Fascination

Hmm. Got up at 7 to start work. It's now 10. Haven't started work just yet.

In boxing news, last night Oscar de la Hoya punched out mouthy little bastard Fernando Vargas so hard, Vargas had to go to the hospital for a CT scan after the fight was called in round 11.
Vargas spent weeks before the fight, strutting around and crowing about his superior conditioning and readiness to kill DLH.
He said his new nutritional regimen was the secret to his new found power, all the while licking his lips like he was totally dehydrated.
De la Hoya was cool and calm in all the pre-fight interviews.
Bye bye, Vargas.
Intangible Accomplishments

Yesterday I mowed the lawn, went grocery shopping, then wrote exactly zero stories.
But it was a great day.
Shampoo commercial lady and I talked for a long time, twice yesterday, and discovered many common threads and many intriguing 'opposites attract' facts.
The trouble with potentially budding romance is it spreads like ivy soaked in Miracle Grow and it's too easy to dwell on what she said, what I wanted to say, what I forgot to ask and what we might talk about next.
While dwelling is fun, it sure overshadows silly things like deadlines and story leads.
Hard to write with ivy growing up around my chin.
So today I must pay.
I must seize the day and hammer out six stories. Then the Sopranos will be on tonight, so shampoo commercial lady and I will have to cram 24 hours of questions, stories and revelations into a tiny speck of a two hour window of opportunity.
I should make a list. I don't want to miss a thing.

Saturday, September 14, 2002


It's one of those great days in Texas today, 70º and clear. This is the kind of weather I love to go out in wearing long sleeves and jeans. Mmm.
Alas, this weekend I have to work. I have probably six more stories to write before Monday's deadline.
I also have to find time to mow my front and back lawns this weekend. Weed flowers are actually blooming in the front yard, and the back yard is approaching the Little Shop of Horrors stage.
Yipes. I better get out of blog mode and into tangible accomplishment mode.
Later, gators.

Friday, September 13, 2002


Today is a heavy writing day. I have at least six major stories to write to meet my September 16th deadline.
It's 4:30 a.m.
My brain went to bed happy, ready to sleep.
Then I kept having those kind of shampoo commercial dreams, where the beautiful, tall brunette woman is bounding in slow motion through a flowered meadow, arms open, right toward me.
I kept waking up smiling, only to find a fuzzy buff and white kitty lying next to me.
I finally gave up and got out of bed.
Never, ever, talk to a beautiful woman just before going to sleep.
Like eating Italian sausage and peppers right before bed, she will keep you from sleeping.
Oh, I'm not complaining, I am just awake is all.
Maybe this is all because of 9/11.
After I heard the lottery balls in NYC hit 9-1-1 on 9/11, I thought it was an omen.
Five thousand New Yorkers picked that number and won.
That night, after I'd seen all the coverage I could handle, I decided to turn it over to God.
Then something lifted, as if my own mourning had a beginning, middle and end.
The beautiful, blog reading shampoo ad woman asked me last night what exactly my politics were.
I was taken aback because she had to ask. I told her I was a liberal, left wing, yellow dog democrat.
That she wondered made me think of the war mongering, isolationist blogs I've been doing over the last year. I don't want war, not now, certainly not with this president.
That she called the night after 9/11 may have been an omen of happy emotions conquering angry ones.
I've always been lucky on Friday the 13th.
Maybe that's why I woke up so early, to suck in all the luck.
Did I mention how beautiful she is?

Thursday, September 12, 2002


Gee, I heard something about 80's music in the Metropolis movie soundtrack, but the copy I got was from the 1920s, tinkling piano music and all.
Think black and white silent film, looking like a kaleidoscope, with the bits of glass being humans. Very interesting cinematography. Very nicely choreographed.
Artemis, you'll have to send me your address, because it's all yours, baby.
Dusty, You Left Too Soon

Yesterday, amidst the gloom of the day I received in the mail the CD I ordered last time I was in a funk.
Dusty Springfield's Greatest Hits.
Sure, we have all kinds of new lesbian singers and groups out there on the market, but Dusty's old school, and I love her sand-on-suede voice.
Her songs on this CD are a little dated, but that voice made her "the white lady of soul," as she was dubbed in her native England.
Her lesbianism was one of those loosely guarded secrets, even after she coupled up with Canadian singer/dyke/maniac Carole Pope.
But we knew.
Her big, blonde bouffant and her panda bear eye makeup and singing about the son of the preacher man didn't fool us. We knew.
Her song, "I Don't Know What to do With Myself," is the best breakup song ever. Raw pain, expressed lyrically.
Her version of, "The Look of Love" is as sensuous as it gets.
If any of you watch "Arli$$" on HBO, the opening song, "I Only Want to be With You" is classic Dusty. You cannot stay in a funk when that song plays. It makes me dance silly, like the guy in the K-Mart/Joe Boxer commercial.
In 1987 she busted out again, singing with the Pet Shop Boys in, "What Have I Done to Deserve this?" I was so happy to see her jumping back into the music scene with such a good group.
Dusty died on March 3, 1999, after a 4-year battle with breast cancer. She was 60.
She left in her will £300,000 for the lifetime care of her cat. How cool was that?

It's All About God

Last night I felt I had to watch at least some coverage of the one year anniversary of the attacks on America. I chose to watch PBS, because I knew they would spare me the waving flags and incessant views of the towers collapsing.
PBS was the perfect choice for the mood I was in last night.
They had a feature called Frontline: Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero, where clergy from all major religions expressed their views on the terrorists, the conflict and war.
All were able to find flaws that contribute to the world's woes within their own religions.
One clergyman nailed it.
He said every religion has a dark side.
I began to think.
Catholic clergymen have been molesting children and subjugating women for centuries.
Fundamentalist Christians think nothing of killing abortion providers, gays and others who don't share their concrete religious tenets.
The Ku Klux Klan is our nation's Taliban.
Jews in the spell of religious zealousness can kill and maim others at will.
Muslim and Islamic radicals can blur the true meaning of a jihad and go berserk in their killing sprees, then in their dying words, praise Allah.
No major religion is without a dark side.
I urge anyone interested to go to PBS Interviews and see for yourself what the world's leading religious thinkers had to say about the atrocities on September 11.

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

September 11, 2002

Words escape me.
Sorrow has shrouded my heart for a year now.
Anger has pricked me like thorns lodged deep within in my soul.
I have talked of it here, perhaps too many times.
I have vacillated between wanting vengeance and longing for peace.

I spent a few hours on the phone last night trying to cheer up my friend Leslie, a native Manhattan Jewish woman who lives a few blocks from Ground Zero and was on the streets when the twin towers were hit, and when they fell.
She heard the explosions, smelled it, got it in her eyes and sprained her ankle running from it.
She can't sleep anymore, but she won't take anything to help, she fears she will have to wake up and run for her life some night.
Sometimes the right words escape me.

Here's all I have left on this day:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

God help us.

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

Comments are Down

Blogback is having some work done on their server, so comments will be down for a few hours this morning through this afternoon.
Come back later and let 'em fly. :)

Monday, September 09, 2002

American Idol at the Lincoln Memorial?

There's a controversy over whether to have American Idol winner Kelly Clarkson sing the national anthem at the Lincoln Memorial on September 11.
For Chrissakes, a kid wins a reality TV show and now she's supposed to sing on the one year anniversary of the worst attack in history on American soil?
Why don't we get Tina from Survivor 2 to read the fucking Gettysburg Address afterwards? Then maybe we can get Ethan from Survivor 3 to address the families of victims of the WTC and the Pentagon and the Pennsylvania plane crash.
Maybe one of the Fear Factor champs can lead the nation in prayer.
No, no, no.
This is commercialism at it's most hideous.
To mark an occasion so solemn with an appearance from a giggling pop culture TV contest winner nobody ever heard of four months ago is beyond tasteless.
Kid singers like Kelly and Britney are okay, but even Ray Charles, Kathleen Battle or Barbra Streisand would be a bit commersh for September 11.
Someone needs to get a clue and stop trying to turn a day of mournful dignity into a cheesy TV special.


I had intended to write a blog as soon as my morning coffee kicked in, but then I was joyfully distracted by e-mail that didn't offer to extend my penis by 3 inches, show me hot teen girl-on-girl action, sell me Viagra by mail or refinance my house.
So I wrote reply letters all day, between little spurts of actual work.
One was to Anna, my best friend who found a tin shack in Ethiopia with Internet access, one was to someone I've had an intermittent crush on for far too long, one to my frequent dinner companion and two were to my slacker brother, who has now expanded our unpleasantry exchange to e-mail.
Then I had a long, delicious IM conversation with the Grey Bird, who seemed fairly sober and glad to be back from the land of meat and alcohol. Turns out her blog census count was relatively undamaged from Techfluid Chari's and my guest blogging fiasco. Whew.
The rains continue here, causing constant nap weather.
My layabout tomcats have been sacked out all day. So lazy are they, they couldn't be troubled to nap in Mama's office where they usually like to wile away the daylight hours. Nope, they are splayed out on my bed like two pie-filled Teamsters at a mo-tel.
Hmm. Why am I blogging when I could be splayed out with my boys?
Gotta go!

Sunday, September 08, 2002

A Perfect Sunday

Egads! I was watching "Incredible Car Chases" on the Discovery channel and this one idiot was lamming over the border from California to Mexico, with the cops in hot pursuit.
When they finally pulled him over, the guy crawled into the back seat and held a knife to his infant son's neck. That's just evil.
A big police dog bit him all over after the cops took the baby out of harm's way.
Good boy.

Soon, I will crawl into my bed, flick on the little Eiffel Tower lamp on my bedside table and read a few more pages from Frida Kahlo's wonderfully illustrated journal. Then I will have a cozy little nap, with James nestled at my side.

At 7, a lovely companion is coming over to help me watch the HBO Sunday night lineup.
I am making genuine Philly cheese steak sandwiches with broccoli cole slaw, then throwing in a few chips and some icy cold root beers.
We were both giddy planning dinner, slavering over details like using red instead of green bell peppers and Vidalia instead of plain onions on the cheese steaks.
I made the butcher crazy earlier today, ordering shaved beef 1/8th inch thick. He'd never heard of a Philly cheese steak sandwich.
I have to top the bread pudding she brought last week. I think these Phillies may do it.
Mondo Bloggo, Part 2

The rain-sloshed sale itself attracted some hard core junk shoppers.
One guy, apparently in the latter stages of diabetes, had full blown elephantiasis in both legs. His ankles were the size of my thighs, and I was amazed the poor guy could even walk, much less get shoes on.
What really hurt was that his rapidly deteriorating limbs gave off the distinct odor of rotting flesh.
Wanda and I discovered mutually weak stomachs when we compared notes.
She went on to tell me about a stinky bed she rented at a B&B in Scotland.
She said, "Oh, eet was smell so horrrrible, I had to geet my theengs and snick off een the meedle of the night."
Austin, being the Texas epicenter of old hippies and overly educated bums, provided us several of both.
One old dude showed up in his tank top and running shorts, with long whiteish yellow hair and the same color beard. Think Professor Dumbledor in jogging attire.
He was a close talker who hung around far too long for the 25 cent thing he purchased. He kinda fancied my sister, much to the glee of her lover and me.
Another young guy showed up with Hidalgo, Mexico plates on his car. His English was poor, but his earnestness made me curious. Turns out he was in his final semester of a Ph.D program at UT in chemical engineering. The guy was totally brilliant and determined to return to Mexico with his Ph.D to try to help makes things better. I gave him a bunch of free knickknacks for being so cool.
After about eight hours of rainy sales, my big brother finally showed up with his slacker son and stepson in tow.
Rather than saying, "You girls go rest, we'll handle the next few hours," he strode in and said, "What's the total?"
Then he demanded to count the cashbox.
Yes, my brother let his sisters and lover-in-law work till 1 am the night before, then arise at 5:30 a.m., tagging and shlepping and shmoozing, only to arrive two hours before the sale ended to demand a tote.
So I said to him, "What are you, Pimp Daddy, working your bitches all night and day and showing up to see what we made? You gotta be kidding."
After we exchanged a few unpleasantries, he got huffy, took the boys and left.
A proper pimp daddy would have brought us rain-drenched ho's a few Cokes, or at least some decent drugs, for chrissakes.
Luckily, Wanda consoled me after he left:
"Wass that jour brother who chust zoom off in hees truck?"
"Yes, the lazy bastard."
"Why he come so late and go home so soon?"
"Because he has a testosterone-based sense of entitlement."
"Ohhh, jes, I know of that. Men can be so cracee. Ju poor theengs, working hard for all day. Ju needed to have a break. Jour poor hair has been wet all day from the rains."
I was instantly soothed. And my brother Billy, well, he can bite me.
Mondo Bloggo, Part 1

Yesterday's garage sale in rainy Austin was actually kind of fun.
Mom's neighbors across the street were having a garage sale too and Lynn, the neighbor lady who should have been gay, had her friend Wanda over to help her.
Wanda was, simply put, fuckolicious.
She was saucy and pretty and Puerto Rican, with one of those well-educated, yet R rolling accents.
Her skin was the color of coffee with four ounces of half and half in it. Mmmm.
I got totally twitchy watching her across the street in her little Panama hat and cool glasses. I actually pruned back Mom's agarita bushes hanging over the driveway so I could get a better look.
In the spirit of Tracy's butt fetish, Wanda could have cracked Brazil nuts with her firm and nubile glutes.
She even gave me three beanie babies, which I took as an overt mating ritual.
Yes, I was delusional (as my sister pointed out) but I say if you're going to be delusional, you may as well choose someone who's totally hot.
testing testing taptaptap is this thing on?

Saturday, September 07, 2002

Teaser Blog

I am home early from Austin.
Yard Sale. Torrential rains.
Hair drenched for 10 consecutive hours.
Male sibling: fly in the ointment.
Otherwise: fun, fun, fun.
Home to electrical storm power outage on block.
Came back on soon after.
James lodged himself behind fridge coils.
Almost died. His mama rescued him.
Under bed now.
Philosophical decisions made.
More later.
Naptime now.

Friday, September 06, 2002

Blog Salad™

• I'm glad Kelly Clarkson won the American Idol contest. She's a great singer and she seems sweet in a small town Texas way. I hope she doesn't turn into Anna Nicole Smith.
Justin or Jason, whoever that guy was with the Afro-dreads who came in second, will do okay. He's perfect for young girls, much like a Ken doll or Ricky Martin.

• I watched The Princess Bride last night. It was sort of like a non-animated Shrek, with the same kinds of snappy patter and quotable lines. Very cute. If I had a niece I'd get it for her.

• My movie watching kick has started to get out of hand.
I ordered Metropolis, based on a suggestion from Artemis, then I threw in the movie Selena, just because watching JLo's butt is something I think akin to keeping Band-Aids around the house. That, plus my friend Cynthia has a butt not unlike JLo's, and she's not always able to be around.

• Madonna is rumored to be pregnant again. Damn, she is fertile.
The movie she just did, "Swept Away" was a remake of the 1975 Lina Wertmüller classic. The premise is this rich bitch Rafaella is aboard a yacht, just humiliating the hell out of a deckhand named Genarrino. Then they get marooned on an island and she becomes dependent on him for survival. The original starred Giancarlo Giannini and was absolutely terrific, so Madonna has her work cut out for her. I think she'll have the rich bitch role down pat.

• It turns out the murder of Tupac Shakur was commissioned by Notorious B.I.G., who was killed a year after Tupac. Great career moves for both artistes, if you ax me.

• Comedian Louie Anderson recently got a guy busted who tried to hustle him for 200k. The guy, claiming Louie propositioned him for sex, first accepted 100k in hush money, then tried to double down. Who cares if Louie Anderson tried to buy sex from an adult male? That's news?

• Cody Gifford, demon spawn of Frank and Kathie Lee, recently sued and settled with the tabloid The National Examiner over stories they published about his bratty behavior. The kid's 10, he suing people and he's not a brat? Sounds like a brat to me.
Slipping the Surly Bonds of Summer

Okay, I have had it.
Summer is gone, a fall breeze has started to waft in and it's time to stop pussyfootin' around, get back up on my hind legs, be who I am and have some fun.
I actually spent a few moments outdoors this morning, then a mosquito bit me and I freaked out and came back inside, waiting to see if I had West Nile Virus.
I think I lucked out and was spared this time.
Then I went for a haircut this afternoon--just a cut, not a color--and my hairdresser hacked off two inches and uncovered a whole pile of silver gray hair on top of my head.
I am going to stay gray a while, just to remind myself that I earned every fucking strand of it this summer by tolerating a few people in my life long past their freshness date.
God spare me from further sanctimonious gasbags, especially the faux spiritual ones who fail to see the judgmental asshole within.
Harsh, maybe, but at least I know I can be an asshole at times.
This weekend I have to trek up to Austin to assist my siblings in having a giant yard sale to thin out some of my mother's million possessions before she moves to her very sweet new retirement village.
I am heading the likely sibling quibbling off at the pass.
Bellinis to the rescue!
I have packed magic markers, poster boards, little price stickers ...and four bottles of champagne! Luckily all my siblings (and I) are sweetened by the addition of alcohol to the mix.
My philosophical question to ponder this weekend is this:
At what point do people's differences (or similarities) cause friendships to dissolve?
I have a dear friend whom I adore, yet we have started to disagree far too often.
It might be that we are in entirely different places in our lives, and maybe I'm just too impatient with having to negotiate intergenerationally.
I miss my best friend Anna, damn it. She's in Ethiopia for another month. Seven or eight years without an unkind word or harsh thought between us. Maybe she set too high a standard, I dunno.

Thursday, September 05, 2002

Movie Mania

I am on a video renting binge.
There are about 400 movies I just never got around to watching.
So far I have seen, "Playing by Heart," "Swingers," "The Cook the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover," "Dogma," and I have a bag of new ones I am about to watch.
"Playing by Heart" was good. "Swingers" was pretty good. "The Cook..." was absolutely without any cinematographic merit whatsoever. "Dogma" was good, but with such a great ensemble cast I was expecting a tad more.
Alan Rickman, who played Professor Snape in the Harry Potter movie, was in "Dogma" and I must admit, he's got some sort of weird magnetism that gives me a case of wigged-out sexual jitters. Jeremy Irons does, too.
Must be some past life thing, where I was a heterosexual and craggy British villains were my favorite flavor.
Anyway, next up is "Chasing Amy."
Yeah, I know, girl meets girl, girl loses girl to guy. That's what I've heard...
That's okay, back in the 70's those kind of movies were like, "girl meets girl, girl feels like she's been possessed by Satan, girl meets guy who kills other girl, then fucks girl and cures her."
*more shuddering*
I am taking suggestions on MUST SEE movies, so let me know.

Wednesday, September 04, 2002

MULLET HAIKU (by my friend Katie)

Smoke, dual exhaust.
Rusty, trusty Trans-Am.
Hair and car are one

Brown edged tank top sticks
to my white clumpy armpits.
Somehow I get laid.

Short like your schooling.
Long like your prison sentence.
The penal haircut.

Dogs urinate where
they so choose. And so do I.
Red and blue lights flash.

O! Squirrel brother,
Your tail, my hair. We are one.
Yet I must eat you.

This super cool hair
and a bucket of chicken:
What more could I want?

My slick snakeskin boots
My silk shirt with rooster prints
Always colored jeans

Lynnrd Skynnrd didn't
win no spelling bees. Who cares?
They rock the trailer.

Razor set to one.
Do front and sides and then stop.
Reaffirm my style.

metallica is
for first graders. Nothing rocks
harder than Winger.

Teen runaway, I
hate my dad. Yet I am one.
Fly, thunderbird, fly.

New white tank top tucks
neatly into tight black jeans:
Redneck Romeo.

Bald on the top and
long on the back. Behold my
glorious skullet.

With long hair in place
how else can I rebel? Hand
me the bong uncle.

Under the Christmas
tree: tight black jeans and a comb.
I've been extra good!

Short for dad. Long for
the daughter mom always wanted.
Everyone's happy.

Tuesday, September 03, 2002

Bush Talks

Egads. I know some people thing Dubya is a capable leader, but for me that includes that pesky ability to communicate coherently.
Dubya does not. Here's a sample:
Night Creeps in on Little Cat Claws

3 a.m.
Sleeping peacefully, awakened slightly by the nudge of a certain young tomcat.
I reached down to pet him and found his thin little ears were cold. I tried to bring him under the covers so he could get warmed up.
As I sleepily went to reposition him, something startled him and he went berserk, tearing across my thigh to get loose.
3:10 a.m.
Hard to get back to sleep with a laceration/puncture on my thigh. Started thinking about everything I have to do this week. Started thinking about the new coffee beans a friend brought me. Mmm, coffee.
3:33 a.m.
Coffee is perking. James is peacefully sleeping on rug next to me. I threw a wad of paper at him and awakened him with a start. Now he's giving himself a little bath, to show me he wasn't freaked out by the wad of paper. When he falls back to sleep, I will throw another wad of paper and reawaken him.
Anyway, while I'm here...
My blind date went well last night. She had pretty eyes and a great smile. Dinner lasted three hours. Her Toyota 4-Runner was spotlessly clean. She wasn't cowgirlish, which was a relief.
She's an ex cop, but she didn't look the part, thank God.
We are planning on going to the courthouse to watch a trial for fun. I have a few assistant D.A. friends I am going to call so they can suggest a really good one. We talked about the O.J. Simpson trial for a long time. I was in true crime heaven.
Outback Steakhouse was playing country music when we got there. Then they switched to 1960s music. She didn't know the names or artists of all the country songs, so that was a relief. Believe me, I asked.
The waitress was a lesbian and apparently figured out we too were lesbians, so the service was chummy and good. I accidentally ordered some kind of horrible peachy rum drink and she exchanged it for a big piña colada, for free. She told us about two other waitresses who were fighting over their apartment lease. The place was young drama lesbo central. I like that in a restaurant.
James fell back to sleep. I shook an aspirin bottle real loud. He lurched awake, then fell back to sleep. Then I threw another paper wad. He's staring at it angrily.
The opera Turandot has a lovely solo called, "Nessun Dorma." It means "nobody sleeps."
I'd play it for James right now, but my neighbor does sleep and it wouldn't be right to awaken him at this ungodly hour.
James is sleeping again, in a little ball. I haven't the heart to lob another paper wad at him. He's done his time.

Monday, September 02, 2002

Labor Day

Last night was a pre-Labor Day Evening of Overindulgence.
My companion and I ate a great dinner, followed by her contribution of some fabulous bread pudding with a vanilla bourbon sauce. I gained half a pound, but it was worth it.
We watched "Heartbreakers" on Showtime, then a few episodes of the Anna Nicole Smith marathon nightmare.
Heartbreakers was really funny. Sigorney Weaver is still hot and her womanliness overshadowed her pip-squeak costar Jennifer Jason Leigh, who has one of those faces you forget unless you are looking right at her. Gene Hackman as the chain smoking, liver spotted billionaire was priceless.
Anna Nicole, as mentioned by Barcodie, is a fucking mess. Last night was my first exposure to her show.
First of all, she's a high maintenance femme lesbian.
Her "assistant" Kim is a butch with purple hair. She's really a very sweet girl housed in a scary bulldyke package, but it's clear they are a couple and Anna N. calls the shots, making it the typical butch femme relationship.
Kim has a huge, colorful tattoo of Anna Nicole on her upper left arm. More evidence.
Just as Anna N. described their relationship as 'sisterly,' Kim leaned toward her face and said, "Your lipstick smells yummy." Then Anna N. kissed her on the lips. Yeah right, just like my sister and I do...
The show is like driving by a car wreck and just having to peek. It's repulsively compelling, just as I hoped it would be.
Anna N. is so typically East Texas trailer trash, it's almost like a parody. She's got a huge ass and dresses like she hasn't caught on to that fact just yet.
I'll bet the sons of that old billionaire she married just cringe when they see her show. To see their daddy's money being blown on food eating contests and over the top faggoty interior decorating must really chap their rich old hides. Ha!
Anna Nicole seems to be on some serious tranquilizers. Nobody is that slow or befuddled.

Tonight I have a blind date. Dinner at Outback Steakhouse.
She's cute and she seems nice, but she likes country western music so I am going into this knowing she's already at strike one.
How's that for optimism?

Sunday, September 01, 2002

Artemis (for cryin') Outloud

My friend Artemis hasn't blogged since August 19.
I think we should form a posse and go coax her out of retirement.
All Right, Harry?

A friend on the Funny Girl List sent this site to us and she was right, the comments at the bottom of the page were priceless.
Go here for a great laugh.