Thursday, October 31, 2002

Tonight's Survivor Picks!

Suck Joy Tribe:
Gotta be Shii Ann.

ChewMeGuy Tribe:
Old geezer Jan, or if there's a God, Clay, the cross-eyed, hayseed, banjo strummin' Louisiana cracker S.O.B.

My luxury items tonight:
Water, one level teaspoon of peanut butter and 3 banana seeds. :(
Y'all Are Amazing

I have family, friends and now a woman who loves me, but I have to say I am very aware and grateful to my Bloggy World friends who have encouraged me and seen me through this shocking new development.
Thanks, everyone.
When I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer in 2001, I read enough to know it was likely a simple matter of a hysterectomy and I'd be cured. No chemo, no radiation, no after effects. And so it was.
Now with diabetes, I was scared. Shaking, shivering and crying scared.
It's incurable- so they say- and it flies in the face of my love for all things epicurean.
I was married to a chef, who died in 1989. Barry was cordon bleu trained and taught me so many things about wines, cuisines and cooking.
I've never been one to loll around eating Ding Dongs and junk food. I have very finicky tastes in foods and have had the luxury of indulging them over the last three decades.
Now the paradigm shifts.
I must relearn how to create and locate delicious foods without sugar and with far less fat. I must learn whatever this timing thing is that will allow me occasional chocolate or a dessert.
I must get off my ass and do more exercise. The more I do the more likely I can have that little chocolate thing now and then.
I absolutely can't smoke anymore. It's just lethal to a diabetic in terms of circulatory complications.
I'll have to pay attention to the fluttery feeling when I am hungry, and realize that the sinking feelings I've been having were not from impending old age, they were the diabetes talking.
Diabetes is a sneaky, insidious bitch.
Leave her alone and she'll make you blind, cut your feet off or shut your endocrine system down.
I'm not going to let that happen.
Anyway, thanks again for the support. I'll try to move off this topic asap. I hate health complaining, even my own.

Wednesday, October 30, 2002

Oh, Sweet Pee...

Yep. My chocolate chomping days are over.
I have Type II diabetes.
I came home from the hospital, armed with some meds, lancets, blood collecting doodads and a swell little glucose-o-meter for my 4x daily bloodletting.
Aviva tells me now I can refuse to eat anything, using my delicate condition as an excuse. I always used allergies as an excuse before. Now I can use the word 'coma' to dissuade people from forcing me to taste their fucking lentil loaf.
My best Friend Anna offered to swap my precious hoard of imported chocolates for "a bag of tofu." Bitch.
Aviva said I'd have to wear a medic alert bracelet. The wild maned vixen with the flashing eyes is a little on the nerdy side if she thinks I am adding a sickly gimp bracelet to my dubious fashion repertoire.
Here's to no more red label Coke, no more Haagen Dazs coffee, no more Venezuelan El Rey chocolate, no more hand made truffles, no more warm, homemade cobblers, no more bread pudding, no more Stonewall Kitchens wild Maine blueberry preserves, no more hot cocoa, no more pumpkin and pecan pie, and no more Coffeemate Hazelnut creamer.
When runner Jim Fixx died years ago, I said it was because he used up all his exercise energy. I guess I have used up all my sugar chances.
No cigarettes, no sweets, that just leaves sex and rock n' roll.
The doctors said I needed to drop 35 pounds. With no sugar, that could be easy.
They said I had to exercise more. Know-it-all bastards.
But, I'll do it because I love this life I have.
So what? I have a chronic disease that's managed primarily by healthy eating and exercise. Sounds like a life sentence of common sense.
Gotta go, I have to go prick myself, eat my Lean Cuisine Hunan beef with three grains of rice and two broccoli buds, then ride that fucking bike for five miles.

Tuesday, October 29, 2002

My IM With God

God IsGood02: Hello.
Karen Zipdrive: Hi God, nice to see you! :)
God IsGood02: You too, my child.
Karen Zipdrive: So, what's up?
God IsGood02: I think you know what's up.
Karen Zipdrive: What, that glucose thing?
God IsGood02: Yes.
Karen Zipdrive: Hey, I had cancer last year, what now, diabetes?
God IsGood02: :X
Karen Zipdrive: No, no, no, don't clam up on me, God.
God IsGood02: How many miles have you put on your exercise bike in the last six weeks?
Karen Zipdrive: Umm, maybe six?
God IsGood02: You think that's impressive?
Karen Zipdrive: Well, I have been lifting weights.
God IsGood02: And I have blessed you with biceps and triceps.
Karen Zipdrive: Yes and thank you for that. But that's not enough?
God IsGood02: How are the chocolates you brought back from Maine?
Karen Zipdrive: Oh they're fantas– uh oh. Is there a correlation here?
God IsGood02: Are you thirsty all the time?
Karen Zipdrive: Actually, I am.
God IsGood02: Do you pee a lot?
Karen Zipdrive: Well yes, I do, kinda.
God IsGood02: Have you lost much weight lately without exercise or dieting much?
Karen Zipdrive: Oh, about 30 pounds this year.
God IsGood02: Do you feel flushed often?
Karen Zipdrive: I am flushed now!
God IsGood02: I see.
Karen Zipdrive: So the glucose test, it was high, huh?
God IsGood02: I see the brains I blessed you with are at rest right now.
Karen Zipdrive: Okay, It was high.
God IsGood02: That is True.
Karen Zipdrive: So, do I have diabetes?
God IsGood02: What do you think?
Karen Zipdrive: I think I might.
God IsGood02: Go forth and be tested.
Karen Zipdrive: Oh, I hate this.
God IsGood02: The alternatives are worse.
Karen Zipdrive: But I still have chocolates left!
God IsGood02: Then eat them.
Karen Zipdrive: But they could kill me!
God IsGood02: :) mmm hmmm.
Karen Zipdrive: Okay, I get the message.
God IsGood02: Gotta go, my green tea is ready.
Karen Zipdrive: Uh, okay God. Take it easy.
God IsGood02: Yep, you too.
Karen Zipdrive: Am I gonna be okay, God?
God IsGood02: That's up to you, Cupcake. ;) Byeee.
3:30 a.m. and all is...Well?

Ugh. I had a nightmare at 2 a.m. and now I am wide awake like Grandfather Clock used to be on Captain Kangaroo.
I am not wide enough awake to be witty or coherent, so if stream of consciousness puts you off, run for the nearest exit.
Speaking of Captain Kangaroo, I have some really nice green jeans from Eddie Bauer, but every time I wear them I am reminded of Mr. Greenjeans. You may recall him as the geezer/hayseed hybrid who played second banana to Captain Kangaroo. He wore overalls, not jeans, but I guess Mr. Overalls sounded too Jewish for those days.

I read tonight that some lunatic nursing student killed three of his professors, then himself at the University of Arizona. One more glowing example of how great concealed weapon permits are. Oh well, at least he saved the taxpayers money by executing himself, the creep.

Speaking of bad medicine, I got the results of some bloodwork I had done at my stupid new doctor's request. Her handwriting was so bad, I couldn't decipher what she was saying beyond asking me to make a follow up appointment.
Instead of scheduling another appointment, I called her service and asked that she 'splain her scribblings to me. The nice thing about being in my late 40's is I can lecture whippersnappers like her about scaring the shit out of people with indecipherable lab results.

My trip to Montreal is coming up in nine days and I am essentially jacketless, living here in Sauna Antonio. I have been perseverating about the cold weather up there (40's) but we are going to the Roots store on Friday, and I figured that would be a great place to find a jacket. At Canadian money rates, I can probably get one for $15 USD.
Actually, if I just stopped taking hormones for a few days prior, I'd be hot enough to go sleeveless, so that's an option, too.

When I returned from New England a few weeks ago, I was searched not once but twice at the Hartford airport. I think airport security guards are like crows, attracted to anything bright or shiny. I was wearing my red shoes and I think it triggered some barely dormant hunting instincts in them.

No red shoes on this trip. I'm planning to blend in with the crowd, dress like a slouch and not make eye contact with those security gibbons.
Aviva asked when airlines stopped serving meals on long flights. That's what I'd like to know. In the air for nearly six hours and they'll hand out a three ounce cup of apple juice, two cookies the size of a nail file and a bag of pretzels the size of a matchbook.
If you pack a decent lunch, it never fails, there's a fucking kid eyeing you and expecting a handout. Hannibal Lector had the right idea, pack some brains in Tupperware for the kiddies to nibble on.
On that note, I think I will retry sleeping and try to dream about Stockard Channing.

Monday, October 28, 2002

Blogging Banter

It seems I blog better when I am pissed off about something.
When I am in a good mood, I have nothing much to say.
Reminds me of a joke:
This woman had a baby who never made a sound. He was tested for it and everything was normal, he just didn't talk. Finally when he was 4 years old, he looked up from the breakfast table and said, "Mom, this toast is burnt."
The mother was shocked and delighted. She said, "Son, oh my God, you talked! Oh, this is wonderful! But why didn't you say something before today?"
The little boy replied, "Up till now, everything's been okay."
Well, my life is really okay right now.
My mother is in a terrific retirement home. Business is good. No feuds with my siblings or friends. Aviva and I are getting along better than we ever have in going-on three years, and I am going to Montreal to see her in 10 days.
In fact, my only problem is online Scrabble. She's been beating the stuffing out of me and I am worried that she'll come to think I'm dumb. I may be big and I may be butch but I don't want to be anyone's "big dumb butch."
But if that's the biggest problem I have, hey, I can deal.

Sunday, October 27, 2002


Day two of my search for the perfect white shirt.
I drove 50 miles, one way, to the dreaded Outlet Mall.
Eddie Bauer did not have The Shirt but he did have The Jeans, so I was thrilled.
Liz Claiborne had The Shirt. Marked down from $68 to $52. No iron, smooth white cotton.
Normal buttons. No button down collar. I bought that, plus another shirt and a jacket.
My shopping for fall is finished. I am complete as a woman.
I returned home to a great phone call with Aviva. She makes me laugh and beats me in Scrabble by an average 100 points per game. Funny, smart and pretty are very good traits.
Next come the Sopranos.
It don't get any better than this.
Late Night TV

I just saw a Maaco Auto Painting commercial starring Burt Reynolds. Yipes. Now his toupee is gray. Too bad Love Boat was canceled, they'd give him some work.
The show I was watching was called "Smooth Jazz." I was watching it because I was stretched out on the couch in my office, the clicker was on my desk and I was too lazy to fetch it.
The show featured Kenny G. playing, "The Look of Love" with some orchestra.
I figured out who he looks like. He's a cross between an Orthodox Jewish rabbi and Hugh Hefner. Poor shmuck. I wish he'd cool it with the grinning and mugging while he plays.
I finally got up and grabbed the clicker after an infomercial about how to work a PC came on.
Late night weekend TV is very dicey.
I paused to watch a Jerry Springer crew filming an irate boyfriend interrupting a hillbilly wedding. Seems the bride was sleeping with her maid of honor, who is also her sister.
Mama fainted and daddy took out after the disgruntled boyfriend. The daddy had about 7 inches of belly bulging shirt where his tie ended.
Now I am watching whatever movie that was that caused Meg Ryan to ditch Dennis Quaid for Russell Crowe. He cleans up nice, but I still think he's the stinky type.
Meg Ryan is still cute. Too cute for Russell Crowe.
Tonight we turned back the clocks an hour. I feel I must stay up and spend the extra time. Gained an hour but lost my mind. Goodnight.

Saturday, October 26, 2002

The Mall

I hate the mall. You know, the kind of big, crowded mall every town has with all the same stores.
I just returned from North Star Mall, in search of two simple things: some pants that aren't baggy or pleated in front and a plain, long sleeved white shirt.
What ever happened to plain, cotton, navy blue pants?
Eddie Bauer, no. Lands End, no. The Gap, no. L.L. Bean, No. Dillard's, no. Foley's, no.
The closest I came was at Dillard's and they fit up around my thorax and had jodpher thighs. No sale.
White shirts, I found. Dig the prices:
Ralph Lauren $85. Liz Claiborne $78. Talbot's $120. No sale.
I am not paying that for a plain white cotton shirt.
Shoes used to be fun to buy. Now they all look like shoes, but they have no back parts where your heel fits. Are we that lazy now?
And why does a pair of nice socks cost $16? Are they crazy? They're socks!
I left empty handed. To hell with the mall.

Last night I went to bed around 2 a.m., good and sleepy and ready for a long rest.
I live on a quiet street, so noise is rarely a problem.
Then I heard it. The pendejos who live in the squalid house two blocks away on the next street over were having another one of their drunken brawl/party nights.
Why would anyone, drunk or drugged, go into the middle of the street at 3 a.m. and have a screaming conversation?
Who cares? I called the cops.

"911, Police, fire or ambulance?
"What's the problem, ma'am?
"Um, a loud party."
"Next door?"
"No, next block."
"You can hear a loud party from the next block?"
"Yes. It's in the 1900 block of _____."
"How do you know what block it is?"
"Same voices, same bass on the stereo, same direction as always."
"Are they having a fight?"
"No, they are just loud and drunk."
"Okay, we'll send someone out."

(the noise continues)

5 a.m.
"911, may I help you?"
"Yes I'd like to report a woman screaming."
"Is she being beaten?"
"Sounds like it."
"Next door?"
"No, in the 1900 block of ____"
"It's not a party?"
"Nooooo, it sounds like a very serious domestic dispute."
"We'll send someone right away."

Let this be a lesson. When the neighbors are partying their asses off and you call the cops, never say it's a party. Always say it's a domestic dispute right off the bat. Otherwise nothing happens.
A Lesbian Public Service Blog

I was thinking more about my bloggy buddies and it occurred to me, some of my straight male blog friends probably wouldn't be exposed to an ordinary lesbian's daily life without blog access.
"What do lesbians do?" some people ask.
Well, we pay taxes, we grocery shop, we garden, we vote, we wash our cars, we do laundry, we deal with our families, we have lunch, we watch TV, we go to work, we gossip with friends, we blog, we do all kinds of things.
What? You mean, what do we do in bed?
Believe it or not, the Secret Lesbian Handbook left out that chapter.
No two lesbians are alike in sexual wants, behaviors or desires. Some are nearly celibate, some are oversexed, some are kinky, some are hung up.
You just never know until the dance begins.
Aviva and I were talking the other night about the vast array of lesbians who are now into BD/SM action. Subs and dommes, pain and pleasure, costumes and fantasy are tons more prevalent than they were when I came out in the 70's. Some of it shocks me, but basically I don't care what other adults do for sexual pleasure.
Neo lesbians, aka Gen X dykes, never knew what true gay oppression was like.
They never had to grab a gay guy on the dancefloor when the cops came in to arrest queers. They never had to stay a safe social distance from their girlfriend in public, lest they get beaten by angry witnesses to their attraction.
It's pretty easy to be a lesbian now in most major cities. We just sort of blend in, sensible shoes and all.
Maybe it's a disappointment to some readers that we dyke bloggers don't write more specifically about lesbian sex.
I think sex should be kept private, especially when love is involved. That's just me though.
If there's a lesbian blogger talking about all the action she gets, let me know! We may need a wBarbie to go with our sexy straight pal, wKen.

Friday, October 25, 2002

My Life Changed Today

Aviva sent me an e-mail today, containing the secret to life, health and happiness.
When U2 recorded the song, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," it's because they had yet to be exposed to this one shimmering pearl of Internet perfection.
And now my friends, I offer it to you:Online Scrabble
...and I invite all comers to challenge me to a battle royale.
Bloggy Thoughts

This morning I awakened before dawn and indulged myself in reading all my bloglinks.
Topics included the snipers, baseball, politics, fat, food, foreign guests, big ball fitness, dental surgery, people's work and a few other things.
It's amazing how we get to know each other through blogs and commenting, so well we can start to predict how each other will react to any given topic.
I thought about who I have linked. Some I know better than others.
Of my 16 links, five are straight men, six are lesbians, one is bisexual and the rest are straight women. Where are the gay men? Search me, I usually get on great with gay men.
As a journalist, I am constrained in what I write by my need to earn a living.
As a blogger, I can write whatever I like and use whatever fucking expletives I want.
I could just keep a real journal, drag a pen across paper and pour out my thoughts, but I am constantly mindful of who might thumb through it after I am dead.
So I blog journal.
I have only deleted two entries this year. One was needlessly cruel and one was too personal and was drawing comments that exceeded what really existed at the time.
Comments make blog journaling much more fun than writing in a private diary.
My reader/commenters usually don't pull punches and often help me see a different perspective. Men tend to comment on certain types of posts and women another.
Today I am tempted to wax eloquently about a topic that's on my mind, but I have to talk to a few people first to make sure they know before they read it here.
Why do you blog? Why do you read blogs?

Thursday, October 24, 2002

Tonight's picks:

Suck Joy All Brawn/No Brain Tribe:
Shii Ann the chicken neck eater
Alternate: Robb the annoying wad

Chewy Guy Geezer tribe:
Jan the oldest geezer
Alternate: Clay the miserable little cross-eyed cracker/prick

My luxury items tonight:
Carr's Table Water Crackers
Big Eye Swiss
Green grapes
Apples & Nutella
Celebrity Salad

I got an e-mail from People/Time chock full of curious items, so I figured it was time for a celebrity gossip blog.

• Wynona Ryder. Why is it this trial has taken almost a year to start? For Chrissakes, show the surveillance video, let someone decide and either throw the book at her or let the bitch go.
• Madonna's remake of "Swept Away" apparently sucked. Didn't even make $400,000 on its opening weekend. The original film's director, Lina Wertmuller, was planning a sequel to her excellent version of the same movie, but now she's thinking Madonna and her goofy husband Guy Richie have screwed it up for her. Madonna jumped the acting shark after Evita. Her last concert was sad. She had to sit down through half the songs.
Madonna has the dough to sit back and raise her kids. She's married to a sexist pig who'd probably like a housewife. A good career move, if you ask me.
• Robert Blake. He killed his skanky pants wife in May of 2001. What's with all the delay? We all know he did it, so try him, fry him and get it over with.
• Michael Jordan. He's suing an ex girlfriend for extortion after he already paid her a quarter million to hush up about their affair two years into his marriage with Juanita.
Who here doesn't know Mike fucks around? Please, it's old news.
• Nick Nolte. He was on the date rape drug GHB when he was arrested recently for DUI.
I remember they used to sell GHB at health food stores over the counter. I heard it was a great sleeping formula so I bought some. It was great for sleeping, but I don't see how anyone could drive on it.
• The Osburnes. Poor Sharon. I think her colon cancer has kind of taken the laughs out of watching the family at their leisure. I don't think their second season is going to be as much fun. Ozzy was fun to see stoned and scrambled, but watching him sad, stoned and scrambled may not play as well.
Hmm...Maybe It Wasn't a Nerdy White Guy

The other day I mused about the sniper in the DC area and said it was likely a nerdy white guy, since they tend to be the usual suspects in cases like this.
Looks like I could be dead wrong:

FREDERICK, Md. (Oct. 24) - Two men wanted for questioning in the wave of deadly sniper attacks were arrested early Thursday after they were found sleeping in their car at a Maryland rest stop, authorities said...
...At a midnight news conference, Montgomery County Police Chief Charles Moose said John Allen Muhammad, 42, was being sought for questioning in the slayings and called him ''armed and dangerous.'' Muhammad was said to be traveling with a juvenile, identified by a law enforcement source as 17-year-old Lee Malvo....
...A law enforcement source close to the investigation told The Associated Press that ''I'm confident that these are indeed the people'' sought in the killings..."

Muhammad is a black man, originally from Jamaica. His companion is a teen, said to be his stepson.
Muhammad is said to have voiced sympathies for the 9/11 terrorists.
Though the law says he's innocent until proven guilty, ballistics tests will suffice for me.
If they match and he's indicted, I hope he has a speedy trial.

Wednesday, October 23, 2002

Good In Bed

I am just finishing "Good In Bed" and I found so many good lines I wanted to steal from it.
If you haven't already read it, it's worth the $13. I really liked how she turned Minnie Driver into a fictional character named Maxy. Nice touch.
There was a section where I read a very familiar term, "Yay me."
When did that term sprout up? I was taught as a child that "yay" was spelled "yea."
I first noticed Kelly over at 'Welcome to my Life' using it. Now it seems I see that term wherever I go.
I have even been tempted to use it, though I think it's age inappropriate, kind of like when my daddy started saying "groovy" in the 70's and looking like a jackass.
I am a linguistic sponge, and I have to be vigilant not to use too much collegiate slang, lest I seem like one of those geezers who refuse to accept their age.
So yay me, for being, like, totally aware of how I use the language. I am all about that!
This is Already Way Out of Hand

"ROCKVILLE, Md. (Oct. 23) - A bus driver was shot to death Tuesday as he was about to set out on his morning route in what authorities fear was the 13th attack by the Washington-area sniper. Police also revealed a chilling warning found at a weekend shooting scene:
''Your children are not safe anywhere at any time.''

I haven't noticed any blogs about this nutter, but what the fuck is going on?
Yesterday I was sitting with two African Americans at the pharmacy waiting room watching CNN, and I found myself saying, "Well, we know this nut is not a woman and he's probably some white guy who neighbors will say was polite, quiet and kept to himself."
We all kind of chuckled, but I suspect it's true. There's nothing nuttier than a wimpy white dude with a gun.
On the drive home, I noticed a banner advertising a big gun show at the Live Oak Auditorium coming in November.
Just out of morbid curiosity, I attended a big gun show at the San Antonio Convention Center a few years ago.
The gray cloud of clabbered testosterone notwithstanding, I have never felt such creepy vibes in my life. I've been to cheerier funerals.
Skinheads meet rednecks meet bikers meet neo Nazis and gang members, all coming together to ooh and ahh over weapons of destruction and other violent gear.
This eastern sniper is trotting around with a high powered rifle. Had he not been using it to murder innocent victims at random, it would probably be perfectly legal for him to sashay around holding it.
I hate guns.
I think people who feel they must possess an arsenal of handguns and rifles have some deep-seated fears and inadequacy problems.
We have a constitutional right to bear arms, but when that right was created the weapons the framers had in mind were hardly Saturday night specials or laser sited assault weapons.
Times change. Those same forefathers owned slaves.
We don't have strict enough gun control laws because the NRA lobby buys politicians.
We don't have strict enough gun control laws because the media gluts our senses with glamorous images of people using guns to get their way.
Most sophisticated countries have strict gun control laws and significantly fewer deaths caused by murder than does the U.S.
Times have changed. People and their kids in the Maryland/Virginia DC area are being held prisoner by one fucking nutter with a rifle.
The first thing that dimwit George Dubya did as Governor of Texas was to institute a concealed weapon law in Texas. That's right, you take a few hours of "gun safety training" and you too can carry a Glock or a .357 in your pocket, car or handbag in the Lone Star State.
If this sniper is ever apprehended, let's pray it causes some bold legislator to create a more rigorous gun control policy.
It's only going to get worse until we do.

Tuesday, October 22, 2002

My Stupid New Doctor

In she rushed, wearing leggings and a tunic top, looking a little like Tony Soprano's psychiatrist but sounding more like Love Boat denizen Charro.
"So, Meez Sipdrife, how are ju today?"
"I am okay, thanks."
"Why are ju here?"
"Routine check-up, nothing specific."
"So what ees new with ju?"
"Well, I have some insomnia and the Celexa is sort of just barely still working."
"Okay, so I theenk ees time for ju to see a counceelor."
"A counselor, what for?"
"For the insomnia."
"I don't need a counselor for that, I need meds."
"No, I don' theenk ju need more meds."
"Can't I just go from 20 mgs to 40 mgs of Celexa?"
"Ju wanna do that?"
"Yes I'd like to try it. I don't have situational depression, I just have lousy seratonin uptake, I think."
"Hokay. Now I see jour bloot pressure is a tiny beet high, 130 over 89. I wan ju to come een for the next fife dace and get jour bloot pressure check at the hospeetal."
"No, I can't come here five days in a row."
"Why, ju leeve far away?"
"Far enough away."
"Okay, so ju go to the grocery store and get it check there and call me after ju check eet for seex times."
"Yeah, umm, okay."
"Okay, why ju takeen Prempro when ju have no uteris?"
"My oncologist/GYN said for me to."
"Why she say that?"
"I dont know, something about progesterin mitigating cancer recurrence."
"Oh, hokay, I see. Well I am gonna eschedule ju for a thyroit test."
"Thyroid test, what for?"
"Just to make chure ju are not having esleeping problems because of jour thyroit."
"Okay then, ju call me weeth the bloot pressures and now ju go to the lab and geet some bloot drawn."
"Okay. Hey, great accent. Where are you from, doctor?"
"Puerto Rrrico."
"¿Oh, le gustas arroz con pollo?"
"No rilly. I don' lie to kook. Okay then, see ju in Febooary. We do a lotta tests then for jour annual sheck up. We will even geet to look at jour colon."
"Ouch. Okay, bye doctor."
I left, went to the lab and had a very clumsy student draw blood while her instrutor barked orders at her like, "The needle's crooked, push it in harder, no pull it out, no suck more blood, no, straighten the needle, you are bruising her." Damn.
Then I went to the pharmacy, waited an hour, and the doctor, she forgeet to poot my prescription in the computer.
They Call it Stormy Tuesday

In the predawn hours today, a clap of thunder not only awakened me, it caused me to jack knife into a sitting position and left me panting like a Collie.
This is the kind of rainstorm that might end up on CNN later today, where the local citizens are seen driving down their streets in little motorboats, trying to save dogs on roofs.
Thunderstorms like this make me paraphrase Sophie B. Hawkins: Damn, I wish I had a lover. Storms like this alone in bed are just jarring, that's all. With a lover I could at least *act* protective and reassuring. Hrumph.
My twitchy kitties are doing an elaborate furniture clawing ritual to appease the Rain Gods. It's not working.
This is not a day to drive. Naturally, I have a doctor's appointment 15 miles away, groceries to buy and banking to do. Thank God for rubber Birkenstocks. I am not risking my All Weather Sports Mocs on this shit.
I can forget about going to The TipTop Cafe today, too. No BLT for me, I gained a pound yesterday eating all that Thai food, not to mention half a large Cadbury orange chocolate bar, two large lemon cheesecake cookies and some chunks of white sharp cheddar cheese I got in Massachusetts.
My zit remains in about the same shape as yesterday. I coated it with tea tree oil, only to find my nutty kitty James trying to lick it off my face as I slept last night. That's just wrong, I told him.
He didn't listen.

Monday, October 21, 2002

I am Applying for Martha Stewart's Job!

From an AP story:
"...If convicted, Stewart would face a hefty fine, and could be forced out as chairman and chief executive of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia Inc., since the SEC would likely seek to bar her from acting as an officer or director of a publicly traded company.

She is already under investigation by the U.S. Justice Department over the stock sales.

Martha Stewart Living has attempted to move other staffers into the limelight since Stewart's legal problems have come to the fore, prominently featuring them in the company's magazine, for example.

But separating Stewart from her company would be no simple task, since she created it in her own image. Martha Stewart Living issued a statement last month denying reports it was actively looking for a new CEO..."

I can do her job as CEO. I have qualifications.

1. I look good in denim workshirts and other man tailored clothing
2. I can make all sorts of arts and crafts crap, and I also do calligraphy
3. I can be at least as bitchy as she
4. I can be treacherous when it suits me
5. I make a perfect Hollandaise and I have chef quality garnishing tools
6. I have two glue guns and know how to use them
7. My hair looks messy all the time, too
8. I like all that prissy New England in autumn shit
9. I know how to slice a mango into perfect one inch squares
10. I have good diction and a thousand adjectives for food topics
Chores and Rewards

My license plate sticker expired in March.
I have had seven months to renew it but it became a challenge to see how long I could go without doing it. It's also a hassle to drive downtown and wait on line in the urine-scented tax assessor's office. I swear, it smells like a condemned old folks home in there.
I have a doctor's appointment at a military hospital tomorrow and I just couldn't face another 18-year-old MP warning me he "could have me removed from the post" because my plates were expired. Power hungry little pricks.
So I went downtown, only to discover I'd left my money, ID and insurance proof in my purse at home. So I went home and got them.
I went back and promised myself a BLT at The TipTop Cafe for lunch afterwards as a reward for being a solid Jane Q. Citizen.
Monday. The Tip Top Cafe is closed on Monday.
I spied Lan's Indochine restaurant across the street, where they feature a lunch buffet for only $5.99. I was hungry enough to eat the butt out of a ragdoll, so I went across the street with expectations low.
They had some incredible buffet items. Tiger cry salad with sliced beef in a spicy peanut dressing. Yellow curried chicken with veggies and coconut milk. Thai noodles with beef. Thai spiced green beans with chicken. I had two plates full and two giant glasses of iced tea.
Now I must be imbued with wisdom, because I have a genuine Buddha belly.
I took a little walk after lunch and the weather was just like Ogunquit was last week. It made me sad so I went back to my newly legit car and came home.
I guess I'll have to think of another unpleasant chore to earn that BLT tomorrow.
The Zit From Hell

I've lost two pounds since I've been back, my hair is at the perfect length and a new shampoo I've been using (Redken Volume for fine hair) has puffed it up just right.
I should be feeling pretty good about myself except for one problem.
My otherwise clear skin is developing some sort of huge underground zit facility, just to the right of my chin.
It's not a simple zit that comes to a head and can be easily dealt with. This is a sprawling, headless, livid red mass with an area roughly the size of Rhode Island.
I dare not touch it or try to get to the core of it because it's apparently lodged beneath the epidermis, assessable only through general surgery.
I have applied tea tree oil liberally to the surface, only to find it totally ineffective.
I can look down and see it casting a shadow over my keyboard.
It makes my face look like I have a plug of chaw pouched in the bottom my right cheek.
It feels like a .22 caliber bullet is under my skin.
All I can do is revert to form, so I offer these zit haiku.

Kiss me, my darling
Not with that boil on your face!
But it's just a zit!

No, no, James, leave it!
That's not a new kitty toy
That's Mommie's big zit

Add some nice tinsel
I already have the huge
bright red ornament

oh Karen, baby
I think I love you, honey
'cept for That Big Thing

It'll go away
With some time, this too shall pass
Maybe in three months

Sunday, October 20, 2002

A Rental, Maybe

Just saw "One Hour Photo."
Watching photos being processed at a One Hour Photo booth would have been more entertaining. Poor Robin Williams, bless his heart, he tried.
What a yawn of a script, an unthrilling thriller and a thoroughly forgettable movie.
I am getting ready for the perfect Sunday segue, Six Feet Under and the Sopranos.
No dinner tonight. I am a little off my feed. Maybe toast with just a little shmear of wild Maine blueberry preserves and some herb tea.
Fell asleep at 5 a.m. after a marathon ponder-fest. Change is in the wind.

Here's the rather maudlin song playing in my mind today:

There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends
I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
there is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
From the same people who wrote, "All You Need is Love."
They were mistaken, that's not all we need.

Saturday, October 19, 2002

Haiku Saturday Night

Chris Kattan, oy
that Mango character
creeps me out so bad

Watching SNL
Instead of pretty brown eyes
Crap alternative

Senator McCain
SNL guest host tonight
Geek wants the youth vote

Tina Fey, oy vey
How hot is that Jewish girl?
A delish knish!

Saturday night, ehh
Last week was so much better
Television sucks
Rain, Pancakes and the Reluctant Muse

My Saturday was supposed to consist of driving up to Wimberly for a huge company picnic my biggest client hosts every year. Rain canceled that, at least as far as I was concerned. Damn, I was looking forward to it.
I went to Jim's Coffee House with my friend Elaine to drown my sorrows in a short stack of pancakes and some good, smoky bacon.
She was fussing with a belly ache and wanted to go home and back to bed.
I wanted to make art with her. She and I were both art directors (she still is) and she's fun to doodle/collaborate with. She's a definite muse to me.
I followed her home like a wet puppy and she had no choice but to let me in.
I made two little colored pencil drawings of Ogunquit, one of the Marginal Way, a cliffside walking path overlooking the ocean, and one of silly, random graphics like lobsters, clams, autumn leaves and rum punches.
I sent them to Aviva as e-postcards. Haven't heard the reaction yet.
Elaine and I listened to Moby and old Soul 2 Soul CD's while we were doodling. It felt great to just unplug my right brain, draw, listen to music and empty my head.
The rain was all set to ruin my day and my disposition, but I refused to let it and now I am happy again.
All I need now is a good book, a few chocolates and a nap.
I am reading "Tran-sister Radio" and it's very interesting, if you like transexuals, small Vermont towns and a woman who is a reluctant lesbian because her boyfriend had a sex change and now is a dyke.
Better delving into their drama than creating my own, that's all I'm saying.

Thursday, October 17, 2002

Survivor Recap!

I think I may be 4 for 5 on my picks now that I nailed Stephanie as the latest casualty.
Go figure, people had a chance to swap tribes and nobody took it. Stephanie was dumb to pass up the chance and so was Jan the old geezer.

The Suck Joy Tribe simply has to get rid of Robb next because he's such a big fucking jerk. Still, Shii Ann is a minority and has bad social eating habits so she'll probably get the ax next.
On the other hand, that nice NYPD cop was seen fronting Robb in the previews, so maybe enough will be enough. Robb has that obnoxious sense of entitlement common to the young, dumb and fulla cum generation, so it'll be good to see him backed down by a grown man.

The Chewy Guy tribe should forget about voting Clay off next, they should just get together and kill the little creep. If he rolled his eyes and lipped off to one more person tonight I would have turned into Elvis and shot out the TV screen.

Even though, I think Jan will be the next one to go because those boat losing imbeciles Ted and Pornboy will back Clay up and so will that guy-wannabe Helen.

Is it me or do they have an especially unappealing crowd this season? And that woman from Austin is losing weight everywhere but her huge bazoongas, which some allege are fake.
Back to Life, Back to Reality

Okay, let's face it, my lobster days are over for now.
San Antonio is not exactly the seafood capital of Texas, and I am not going to replicate anytime soon that one particularly succulent, meaty 2+ pounder I wolfed down Saturday night in Ogunquit.
So I had to get realistic and ponder the bounty of my own local cuisine.
That can only mean one thing: Enchiladas.
For dinner I had three perfect cheese enchiladas, covered in chili and cheese from Jacala, my favorite Tex Mex restaurant. They were perfect and I am back to normal now, no longer pining so much for Maine seafood.
People who leave San Antonio rush to Jacala the minute they return to the city.
Zeddie wanted to eat there every day while she was here, and she left with a jar of their salsa.
Rebecca, who visited me from Vancouver a few years ago, almost made out with a few cute Latina waitresses who were admiring her tatts and pierced things. She was buzzed on margaritas at the time.
For under $7, you can get a two-plate special dinner and leave with your belt a notch tighter. Add a few more bucks and get a margarita that'll make you goofy.

It's comfort food, baby, and I am comforted.
Thinking Back, Sappily

I want to go back to Ogunquit.
I want to walk on the beach past the dream house with the star in the facade and the fairy on the roof.
I want to be holding her soft hand and watching the wind blow her hair into strands of bronze and copper and dark oxblood caught by the sun as we walk up the beach.
I want the rocks and shells I brought home to be back in her red bucket, still damp and sandy from the sea. I want to relive the moment when she handed me a little black rock and said, "Well, it's kind of shaped like a heart."
I want to sit in that amber hued restaurant with the fire blazing and look at the tiny fishing boat fleet in the harbor below while I casually rip claws off a lobster and dredge the meat through clarified butter.
I told her that staying in the moment and reveling in the joy of it bodes for happy memories and a potentially great future. She worries what's next. She worries about the turbulent past we shared.
I unpack treasures. A matted photograph of the same little fishing boat harbor. A handmade journal. A wreath of little red berries and greenery for my mother. A little glass whale we picked out together. Canadian chocolates she brought me. Jams and mustards we bought at Stonewall Kitchens.
My clothes smell like creme brulee body lotion. Hers.
My navy suede shoes she said would be ruined by the sand weren't ruined at all.
She is troubled now. What next, she ponders.
I ponder, too.
We are polar opposites, like a brick and a feather. My oafish butchness attracts and repels her in equal amounts. Her ethereal femmeness scares and thrills me.
Our past was stormy. Trust was demolished.
Still, when I think of her now I think of Ogunquit, the beach and what could be.

Wednesday, October 16, 2002

Survivor Picks

Sook Jai All Brawn-No Brain Tribe:
I think Robb will be spared again for his oxen like strength and bovine stupidity, rendering him harmless yet annoying.
Shii Ann probably learned from nearly getting the boot at last tribal council to shut the hell up. So that leaves my pick for that tribe Stephanie Dill, the lazy, no account firefighter who does not play well with others. See ya, wouldn't want to be ya.

Chuay Gai Mostly Geezer Tribe:
Hmm, tough one after Helen fucked up the boy/girl balance. This puts old Jan in a frail light, but with Clay yammering and sputtering like a dog chewing a wasp, he should be roundly hated by everyone but Ted, who I think Clay has some Mandingo-style-top-me-big- black-daddy sexual fantasies about.
Helen won't get the boot because the guys will protect her traitorous ass. Ted is safe for now. The bland used car/porn guy is the only real muscle they have, so he's safe. So that leaves Jan or Clay.
Risky, but I am going for Clay. He's too ugly in those swim trunks and that hillbilly cross eyed, bearded look to be allowed to stay. Old Jan is my alternate pick.

If there is a switch, I look for Shii Ann and Ted to make the switch, making them outsiders and therefore goners.
Martha Stewart Redux

I find it deliciously incongruent that I got a newsgroup article today in my e-mail saying that ImClone founder Sam Waskal pled guilty to bank and securities fraud by tipping off buddies like Martha to dump their ImClone stock, then in another batch of e-mail I got a Martha recipe for some kind of autumn root vegetable stew and an ad hawking her elaborate silver bed linens.
She's got to be shitting in her Egyptian Monarch-spun silk panties by now.
I am starting to think Martha's really going to be indicted, tried and found guilty.
Face it, she's Leona Helmsley all over again, and she's likely to get some serious pokey time for the measley 150 grand she scammed off that falling stock.

Help Me Settle a Bet

The red wagon Oprah pulled behind her a few years ago on her show after she lost all that weight contained:
A) Meat
B) Fat or lard
If you can find a link to the picture or an article stating what was in the wagon, that'd be great. I have $1,000 riding on this.
Oh, My My

Despite traffic jams and rain enroute to Ogunquit from Hartford on Friday afternoon, once I got there I was swept away to Barnacle Billy's where the rum punch, lobster and steamers melted away any traffic snag/rain driving tension I may have had.
Saturday was wonderful. We took a long drive around the vicinity, walked on the beach in the mist, shopped, ate more lobster and steamers and drank more rum punches.
The 'we' I am referring to includes a lost love, maybe found again. We both need a few weeks to ponder things and see where we are.
It was good to see her again, that's all I can be sure of.
I thank whatever spiritual grace I have that caused my former travel companion to flake out before we actually met. I was more than rewarded for her bail-out, and was probably spared a lot of aggravation in the process.
On Monday, the skies were clear and the beach was gorgeous, so we took two walks, spent a little time saying sad good-byes, then headed off in opposite directions.
My rental car was a brand new Altima with a great sound system, so I played a Talking Heads compilation she made for me all the way to Westfield Mass, where I spent 24 hours with the charming parents of an ex. We visited my favorite New England park, then they took me to the top of Skinner Mountain, located near Mt. Holyoke College. Great views.
We finished off in Hartford, eating more steamers and huge lobsters, then they poured me onto the plane, laden with gifts and goodies.
I feel absolutely renewed after being near the beach and being around such wonderful people.
I'm Baaaack

Too much to write about tonight after catching a late flight back from New England, but I am back and had a wonderful time, even with some rain and traffic.
Details at 11 (am).

Thursday, October 10, 2002

Survivor: Helen, You Rat

Okay I should be happy my pick won, but I can't stand Clay and I want that runty, redneck misogynist, cracker gone.
Helen voted with the men. She totally screwed up the balance.
Hell, she is sort of a man, so what can we expect. In fact, Helen actually looks better in that wilderness environment. Deprivation becomes her, the seahag.

Anyway, I'll see y'all soon and thanks for all the bye byes.
I'll eat a steamer for each of you.
Last Minute Survivor Pick

Ghandia or Robb. Details after the show.
Random Snippets From a Preoccupied Girl

I was at the old folks home the other day, having lunch with my 89-year-old mother in the big dining area. I said to her, "Hey Mom, have you noticed all the ladies around here have white hair except for you?"
She said, "Well, they're old."

Then on Monday, my sister the impatient lawyer and I spent the morning at the hospital while my other sister the Chinese Medicine doctor was in day surgery having an inguinal hernia repaired.
The lawyer sister started getting antsy while the doctor sister was in recovery, still totally zoned out on anesthesia.
Before I knew it, the lawyer had the doctor all dressed and poured into a wheelchair. I drove the poor thing home at least two hours before she should have been released.
I talked to her last night to see how she was and she said, "Boy, they sure threw me out of the hospital sooner than they should have. Patients should at least be able to talk or walk before they get released."
I told her, "Um, I think the lawyer might have expedited your release a bit."
She said, "Oh, is that how I got my clothes on?"

It's very humid and sort of warmish in San Antonio this week. I am going to end up dressing in something cool to travel in and freezing my ass off when I land in Connecticut. October 10 and it's still air conditioner weather in this steamroom of a town.
I can't wait to be cold. I am going to wade barefoot in the Atlantic just to get a nice chill. Mmm.

I am shlepping way too many gifts for way too many people. I was even planning to take some Texas hot sauce to this lesbian Ogunquit B&B innkeeper who had no vacancies, so I could drop in and meet her.
Then she asked me to bring her a nice, petite femme from Texas.
Scratch the hot sauce, I am not packing *anything* for some old butch.

More later, I have an urge to iron.

Wednesday, October 09, 2002

Free at Last

Oh, thank God I am finally done with my assignments and free to revel in vacation plans like ironing, banking, filing all my maps and driving directions into a little pile, packing, deciding what to wear and just daydreaming about being on the beach in a blissful daze.
My client was testing me to see if I'd snap. She piled two new interviews and story assignments on me last night, knowing I was trying to wrap things up.
Then she asked me to fill in some personal details about this employee I did a feature on, like his marital and kid status. What is this, Ladies Home Fuckin' Journal?
Ha! Wait till she tries to get hold of me tomorrow. "Hello, Karen? Wah wah wah wah wah wah...Karen?"
It's official. My vacation starts tonight.
And professionally, I just don't give a shit. :D
Gimme a Hit of That

I know my sitemeter will tank when I am gone, so I am going to have to bait some search engine hooks so I can attract new hits while the regulars are dormant.
Gee, I wonder if bass fishermen like women with big breasts?
Has Kelly from American Idol posed nude?
Osama bin Laden might be found dead. I watch CNN to find out.
I wish they'd sell FAT FREE CHOCOLATE. Oprah would love that.
What did Nostradamus say about the world trade center?
I wouldn't want hip hop or rap CDs if they gave them to me free.
Boy that Bruce Springsteen sure knows how to release a CD.
Melly told me she was 5'11". She's an!
Poor Richard Gere and those gerbil rumors.
I bet Britney Spears has never posed naked.
I can't wait for my vacation. Yahoo!
Is Napster still giving away free music downloads?
Think they'll convict Martha Stewart and make her a prison bitch?
Boy, is George W. Bush stupid!

Tuesday, October 08, 2002

Obla Di Obla Da, Wah Wah Wah...

Why do people even bother to try to work the week before vacation?
I have written four major articles and interviewed 10 people since last Friday and I couldn't tell you what any of the stories were about or any of the interviewees' names if you paid me. The only thing I am sure of is spelling and grammar, and that's because a program did it for me.
Simply put, I don't give a shit.
My dining room table is piled with bills to pay, paperwork to file, new socks and underwear still with tags on them, an assortment of pants, shirts and jackets, hotel brochures, maps, books and little gifts I plan to shlep with me on vacation.
I haven't had time to pack, go to the bank or even daydream about drinking rum punches while watching the little fishing boats bobbing at the docks.
My client has called me at least six times today and she sounds like a parent in a Peanuts cartoon. "Karen? Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah story wah wah wah deadline wah wah wah."
Only heavenly kismet caused me to miss all six of her calls today.
That wah wah wah wah Peanuts voice intolerance has only crept up on me lately.
I am getting too old and jaded to listen to anyone's horseshit for long. When the grifter (aka: the antigoddess) started with that wah wah wah don't interrupt me wah wah wah wah wah wah crap, I just tuned out until I heard the blessed silence of her finally having to swallow. Toward the end, I didn't care that she wouldn't let me talk, I just wanted to hang up and turn the phone ringer off.
I was clearing my voicemail of old, saved messages and I listened to a few of hers- they went from sweet, purring vixen to wah wah wah wah wah in less than two weeks.
I don't care if she could make little origami animals with her labia and braid cherry stems with her tongue, the woman whined and bitched too much to stomach.
I am in a great mood when left in peace to contemplate my vacation.
I am staying at a hotel on the beach and all I have to do is turn right or left to visit lighthouses, quaint seaside villages, shops and restaurants. I am meeting someone there who I know will give me no incessant jabbering and all the space I need to unplug and contemplate nothing.
Vacations should be about contemplating nothing. No wah wah wah.
Ten Thousand Times Two

Remember a while back when I had that stupid 10,000th Visitor Sweepstakes and I broke my comments box, had to beg BlogBack owner Marcus to forgive me, made myself crazy and ended up having to give out extra prizes to compensate for my sheer stupidity in misplanning the event?
Well, yesterday I hit 20,000 visitors.
Thanks everyone for coming and for making so many great comments.
And Marcus, you are one cute Digiboy.

Do you have a Cringe-o-Meter?
You know, when things are going fine in a conversation and the person with whom you are conversing says or does something that makes you want to smack him or her in the face with a rolled up magazine?
Besides the dreaded "finger quotes," another gesture bound to send my Cringe-o-Meter into the red zone is putting one's index finger into one's cheek and making a twisting motion to indicate where a dimple might be. What the fuck is that all about, anyway?
I think it means, "Aren't I cute?" and the answer is, "No, you are not."
Certain words also set me off, most notably, "nucular" instead of "nuclear," "wif" instead of "with," and "da" instead of "the."
More phrases: "revert back to," "happy, happy- joy, joy," "widdle girl's/boy's woom" the dreaded "I sowwy," "Anyone?... Anyone?," "I'm your Huckleberry" and who can forget "WHASSSSSUUUUP!"
I am amazed more people don't openly object to these sorts of assaults to the senses.
They need to stop and I mean it.
Can you hear me now?

Monday, October 07, 2002

Pulp Friction Merchandise

I have noticed some of my fellow bloggers selling stuff with their blog logo on it, like
T-shirts, cups, mouse pads and so on.
I am thinking of marketing my own line of Pulp Friction merchandise.

• Pulp Friction Chick-Away™ Cologne:
When you wear this spicy scent, even the most stable and honest potential new girlfriend will run to the first ambulatory butch who catches her eye.
• Pulp Friction Dinosaur Plush Toys™:
Choose from three lovable dinosaur plushies: Likkalotapus, Tyranasoreass Ex, Brontobitch.
• Pulp Friction's Lesbian Travel Guide™:
Tips on finding love in or near desirable vacation locales.
• Pulp Friction Astrolube Guide™:
An intimate guide to which signs are the wettest and which are the driest!
• Pulp Friction Etch-a-Sketch™ telephone book:
Just flip it over and shake to remove errors in judgment.
• Pulp Friction Magic 8-Ball™ Romance Planner:
Works as well as any other method when it comes to choosing the right woman.

Sunday, October 06, 2002

My Best Friend's Back

Life is back to normal now, my best friend Anna's back from Ethiopia.
We went out to see Red Dragon this afternoon and she nearly punctured my right bicep, gripping it with fear. God, it was good to sit next to her at the movies again.
It was a good movie. Fairly true to the book.
Not much Hannibal but Ray Fiennes was pretty chilling.
I wondered why they didn't use Joaquin Phoenix as the lead, since he actually has a repaired cleft palate.
Anyway, it was a good movie. Not great, but good.
The Sopranos start in about 10 minutes.
All in all, a good Sunday.
Brazilian Brain Terrorism

Last night I went to dinner at some friends' house with another couple and my friend Cynthia.
After some iced sake with the appetizers, they served the national cocktail of Brazil called a Caipirhina, which consists of a 150 proof Brazilian cane sugar rum called Cachaça, muddled with lime juice, sugar and ice. They taste 40% better than the best margarita.
The reason Brazil is not a superpower is because they drink Caipirhinas (pronounced kype-pee-REE-nahss).
After two I was so drunk I was eating couscous out of Cynthia's hand, and by the third drink I nearly gave my friend Ruben my new red shoes.
Finally, dinner was ready and we had the most perfect grilled salmon, grilled asparagus, zucchini and red peppers, couscous with pinenuts and sweet cranberries, some baby new potatoes and a spinach salad with bacon, pomegranate kernels and some other fabulous things I was too drunk to discern.
Even with a hangover, I awakened grateful to have friends who know how to throw the perfect dinner party.
Meanwhile, if you are a drinker and looking for something really novel to serve, find a liquor store that stocks Cachaça, buy a mess of limes and make a batch of Caipirhinas.
They are like margaritas with less obvious kick, yet the buzz is tons better.
I am trying to figure out a way to take a batch to New England with me.

Saturday, October 05, 2002

My Vacation Booklist

An ex of mine who used to be my best book recommender has recently come back into the picture with this list for vacation reads:

The Pact, by Jodi Picoult
Trans-Sister Radio, by Chris Bohjalian
Midwives, by Chris Bohjalian
The Law of Similars, by Chris Bohjalian
Ladies With Options, by Cynthia Hartwick
Good In Bed, by Jennifer Weiner

I am not shlepping six books with me, so please select your top three favorites to help me decide which to go out and buy.

Friday, October 04, 2002

Serenity NOW!

Remember that Seinfeld episode where George's dad kept screaming "Serenity NOW"?
I know how he felt.
I have much to be happy and grateful for, and still I let mosquitoes and grifters and shitty blogs and hot weather and nicotine cravings and manipulators and TV ads and telemarketers and bad drivers and silly, inconsequential thoughts, things and people get to me.
I've been spitting out articles to try and make my pushed-up deadline, trying to figure out what to pack that's warm in this unseasonably hot weather, paying bills, shopping, seeing my Mom in the old folk's home, trying not to hate that I got played, trying to ignore the grifter who played me, trying to hide my luggage from the suspicious cats, trying not to explode...
...but I am letting go.
I haven't got time for the pain, like Carly Simon said.
Fall marks things falling away, making room for dormancy, then regeneration.
Like an autumn leaf, I've been holding on to the tree for far too long.
I think it's time to delete, expunge, exfoliate, trash, recycle, rearrange, thin out and move ahead...
And whip it. Whip it good!
Happy Birthday, Wacko

I want to wish Chari over at TECHFLUID a happy 40th birthday tomorrow.
We've become pretty good friends through blogworld and the FGN, and I want to recommend her site to anyone who's not familiar with it.
Go over, reblog and rub it in about her age. She'll love it. No, really.
All the best, chica.

Thursday, October 03, 2002

Hey, Not Bad

I said in my reblog space that Robb or Jed the dental student would get the boot tonight, and it was Jed. That makes me 2 and 1 if I get full credit for Jed, since I picked either him or Robb from that tribe. Doesn't money is riding on it.
What matters is this.
Ghandia was dogging Ted to the others after he apologized for grinding her and that's not right.
See, the thing is, a married woman who would be hugging on and cuddling another man, then sleeping in a potential spoon position with her ass in front of him is just axing for trouble.
Men and butch women should not be teased that way, it's just not fair.
When I was dating men back in the stone age, I knew not to get too chummy with a man I didn't intend to have sex with. They get totally cranky when they are teased without relief, and it's just unsportsmanlike.
Ghandia was teasing Ted all night by allowing him to go as far as he did and he apologized. She should have apologized for having her ass pressed against his groin.
For her to go blabbing what happened to anyone with ears was bad form. The man apologized and she had accepted. She left that part out when she was carrying the tale. She is a prick teaser. Bitch got to go. And Ted's wife will kick his bad ass when he gets home, don't you worry.
Man, I loved those red berets making fashionable kitchen utensils out of sticks, and then finding raddichio, field greens, seafood delicacies and 100 ways to fix coconut. It was like they showed the old, wimpy tribe how to open their own little Thai restaurant.
Meanwhile, the big and brawny Sukk Yu tribe is starting to waste away without food or happy layers of fat to consume. Way to go losing the fishing net.
Looks like the Ching Gow tribe may surge ahead now that the red berets have taught them advanced survival skills.
Next week if they lose immunity, the geezer tribe will throw out either Ghandia or Ted.
I think Ghandia needs to get her big, tempting butt back to her husband.
Next off on the Sukk Yu tribe, gotta be Robb.
Survivor Picks

I am far too lazy today to contemplate who may or may not be kicked off Survivor tonight, so instead I will just copy the e-mail I received on the subject from a friend of mine. Let her predictions count as mine. Here's what she had to say:

I'm going with Jan or Stephanie.

It was a tough call between Jan and Helen though. I know nobody likes
Helen, but she's strong, so she's useful. I mean, she can go get food,
cook it, and build a restaurant to serve it in. Jan's only marketable
skill is floating. Plus I hate that down home thing she has going on.

Stephanie is a lazy whore who was sick last week, so I'm thinking she's

Robb is an ass, I agree. But he's a big strong guy, and that makes him
useful for now. Ghandia has impressive cleavage, so I kinda like her.

There's also Clay to consider because he's too small to be of value, plus
he snores.
Attention Music Fanatics

Can you name any song with the phrase "my heart skips a beat" in it?
I am doing some informal research on how often that phrase is used in lyrics.

Wednesday, October 02, 2002

Blah Blah Blog

You know when you are in one of those moods where you know if you blog you'll either say something really insulting about someone who might read it, or you might divulge something deliciously personal, just because it's on your mind?
Yeah well, I am in one of those moods. The former I don't wish to bother with and the latter, ehh, that's not good either. So I will ignore the mood.
In fact, my blogs lately have been too fucking personal because I've been neglecting politics, current events, TV, celebrity gossip, sports and other topics that don't involve gazing at my navel.
Politics: I don't want war. I briefly considered it, then decided against it.
Current Events: Enron guy arrested. Good.
Survivor tomorrow night: Stay tuned!
Celebrity gossip: Rosie O'Donnell, queen of nice or big bitch? BOTH!
In fact, I can relate to her.
I am a very nice person, but when someone acts like a fuckwit I just have to react.
I think Rosie had contractual editorial control of her magazine and she bolted when they tried to override her editorial vision and turn it back into McCall's.
Fuck them, let them put a basket of fall veggies on the cover. Rosie's right.
Sports: I love Oscar de la Hoya. Vargas can bite me.
We Interrupt This Blog...

I have to write several articles before the 10th so I can scamper off on vacation, so I will be doing bloggy hors d'oeuvres until I get through churning the corporate buttah.
I offer a few haiku to fill the space and illustrate where my mind is.

Vacation time, whee!
Clams, delicious bivalves, please
Yum yum, mercury

Maine: good for lobster
Butter on a girl's chin looks
Very Flashdancey

Hey baby, let's meet
Okay, let's meet in Maine, hmm?
No, you bitched too much.

Sandy beaches stretch
Seven miles across the sea
Ouch, my aching feet

Oh boy, L.L. Bean!
Damn, lotsa plaid stuff in here
That, and big dog beds.

Gorgeous autumn leaves
So nice you want to save some
Turn brown in suitcase

Yankee to Texan:
Hey, we won the civil war
Get over it, dawg

Texan to Yankee:
Hey, nice gas prices here, y'all
Bend over, Yankee

Me in Maine gay bar:
Hi, I have no HIV
Want to dance with me?

Tuesday, October 01, 2002

Quelle Surprise

I went for my HIV exam results today and happily got a minus. I had to hide my glee walking out of the AIDS Foundation. So many were not as lucky, and may God Bless and keep them all.
My now solo trip to Maine has gotten more interesting.
The first thing I did was cancel the reservations "we" had at the secluded little inn at Old Orchard Beach, Maine. Seclusion be damned.
The next thing I did was book a room right on the beach in Gay Ogunquit, within staggering distance from two queer bars. I plan to laminate the HIV– certificate and hang it from a ribbon around my neck.
As Warren Zevon would say, "Ah-Oooh." :)
My Night at the Old Folks Home

No sleep, well, maybe a little sleep. Mom only woke up twice but she did manage to pull the emergency cord in her bathroom three times. Man, those nurses are fast.
I am so tired I can't even describe the dream I had last night, okay-okay, I will.
The shampoo ad woman was running toward me again, but instead of falling into my arms in slow motion, she plowed me right down and kept running, and right behind her was this huge bulldyke chasing her, and she plowed over me, too.
Damn, I was lying there flat like Wile E. Coyote after an Acme steamroller incident.
Calling Dr. Freud!