Saturday, November 30, 2002

Christmas Gift Ideas

What we need are practical gifts people actually will use.
I have invented some.

Bitchometer: worn as a bracelet, the Bitchometer beeps when you've raised your own blood pressure by being too much of a bitch or bastard.

Gut Watcher Pro: this belt detects a too full belly and emits a high pitched, hog squealing sound when the wearer has pigged out too much.

Mama Clapper: When mother starts to talk or complain too much, the Mama Clapper starts clapping until she quiets down.

PMS Alert Bracelet or Necklace: When your favorite gal is fixin' to start, the simulated gems on the PMS Alert jewelry turn from a placid, sky blue to bright red.

ScreenFix: With just a touch of a key, the solitaire game, blog, private e-mail, pornsite or other unauthorized PC activity switches to any letterhead, form or spreadsheet you use at work.

KittyBuns Litter: Finally, a cat litter that smells like fresh baked cinnamon buns. The more it's soiled, the stronger the fresh baked cinnamon bun scent becomes.

Friday, November 29, 2002

Survivor Rehash

Did anyone catch the Wednesday night Survivor midseason special?
Well, I did, and I was happy to be watching it with none other than Cris, the behavioral psychologist who offered some very interesting asides on some of the tribe members.

Could you fucking believe her RuPaul Super Model of the World Vogue faux photo shoot posing? I mean, come on, she's not hideous but she's got an ego to match all that wobbling junk in her trunk.
Beware anyone who says, "I know I'm hot" to a camera that will feed that message out to millions. What gall.
All she had to do was cut her eyes to the rest of the tribe while she was vamping to see her sashay/chante´act was making them cringe. Diva, my ass.
Poor dumb, horny Ted. He took the bait and she charmed his man cobra like Schehera-fuckin-zade. All I can say is, prick teasing is bad. Bitching about it later is bad, too. Soliciting an apology and accepting it, then turning on the apologee is worse than bad. It's treacherous. And so it was.
Adios, diva, and don't let the door hit that bodacious ass on the way out.
Dude, you've had maybe 400 calories in the last 18 weeks, why do you look like you're still Mac'n?
Antisocial personality disorder, according to the shrink. Anger management problems. Intense immaturity. Another one whose assessment of himself exceeded his actual assets. Skateboard to the head. Repeat until patient is sedated. Sent him home. Good.
Clay the ASSMAN. The toady little ferret also turned out to be a leering ass watcher. He likes Erin's ass. He likes Brian's ass. He likes elephant ass. Hell, Jan better be careful or he'll glom on to her saggy ass.
Poor guy. All that rubbin' fox pee and deer spoor on his boots to draw a bead on a 20 point buck apparently clogged up his brain's ability to sense when he's grossing people out. His fellow tribespeople aren't the huntin' fer meat types. Jan likes her squirrel already shot and Clay is a crawdaddy man hisself.
Helen's just gotta win. Please.

Why do I buy into Christmas?
I think Jesus Christ is okay, I think he was a conduit to God, just like I think other historical religious leaders were/are.
To me, God is God, and any religious entity who founded a religion based on God has at least some spiritual credibility.
Well, I am wondering about Allah, but that's another blog.
Thing is, I don't identify strictly as a Christian.
I am a God believer, but not just through the life and teachings of Jesus.
I am a Jew. I am a Buddhist. I am a Hindu. I am a white witch. I am even still a bit Catholic, at least as far as the cool saints, icons and other religious gear go.
I guess that makes me a pan-denominationalist, although Islam/Muslim dogma has yet to offer me anything I think I can apply to my life as a lesbian, feminist woman.
Anyway, Christmas is coming and I decided I am not going to do anything traditional to celebrate it this year.
Aviva the Jew will be with me, and I am thinking instead of the traditional Christmas thing, if the weather holds, we may just drive down to South Padre Island and take a few days to walk on the beach.
I think God lives at the beach. I think it's a great place to reflect on the God that lives within all of us.
I fail to see how getting to Walmart at 5 a.m. to get the jump on holiday shopping today has anything to do with Christ. I fail to see how a new DVD or a down comforter will show anyone I know that I love God. My family is very fortunate in the prosperity department and they don't really lack for anything material.
So that's it.
I'll donate some money to the needy this season, and take my lover to the beach.
Ho ho ho!
Big Big Shopping Day

I'm not going shopping today.
The $4 I'd save on some gift or doodad isn't worth the emotional angst I'd suffer from traffic, parking woes, crowds and inundated shop clerks.
Yesterday we had a great time. Good company, good food and a great movie afterwards.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was simply fantastic. It was better than the first one, which I loved, because it was darker, more complex and scarier.
I still have a crush on Professor Snape. Go figure.
We took my best friend Anna's little son Andrei, who was actually rather attentive for several hours. I only wanted to smack him a few times.
Anna's husband, the one immersed in the work of Byron Katie, was really very nice to see again. We talked about his obsession briefly, but he seemed relaxed with it and listened to what few things I did have to say.
He's a doctor and a distance runner and Anna's parents are fitness and diet freaks, so we were all able to discuss glucose and carbos and all this nutrition crap that's been obsessing me.
Anna's mom brought a sugarless cherry pie that was so good I nearly swooned. Splenda is good! I had a small slice, but still my evening glucose level was in the low 200's, so I rode 15 miles on my bike last night to try to repair the damage.
My glucose level this morning was a mere 126, so that proves to me that exercise really helps in controlling diabetes. Best of all, it has an almost immediate impact on glucose levels, so there's the instant gratification I love.
So, how was your Thanksgiving?
Will you go shopping today?

Thursday, November 28, 2002


On this day of thanks, I am grateful for friends who consider me family and family I can *often* consider friends.
And I am grateful for resilience in my life, in health, in work and in love.
So, I leave you with this inspirational lyric I think encapsulates my life, and perhaps your own. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Tub Thumping

We'll be singing
When we're winning we'll be singing
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
Pissing the night away
Pissing the night away
He drinks a whisky drink
He drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink
He drinks a cider drink
He sings the songs that remind him
Of the good times
He sings the songs that remind him
Of the better times
Oh Danny Boy
Danny Boy
Danny Boy
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
(Repeat 100 more times)

Wednesday, November 27, 2002

General Holiday Haiku

All this turkey talk
Makes me wanna eat a lot
Four ounces, white meat

I'll have pumpkin pie
Minus the crust and filling
No whipped cream, either

Eggnog with some rum
Consumed with great pleasure in
ER waiting room

High glucose Thursday
Maybe some ketones thrown in
Hey, where'd my feet go?

So sad this season
Nick Cage dumping Lisa P.
Wonder what happened?

No wine tomorrow
Good I'll not be with fam'ly
Driving me to drink

What's left to do Thurs.?
No big dinner, booze or sex
And I hate football

My cats look happy
Wonder if their food tastes good
I may try some soon

Aviva, damn her
Up there in cold Canada
And not here with me
Twas the Day Before Thanksgiving...

Hoo boy. My day before Turkey Day will be a fun one.
Almost a month after diagnosis, I finally have my appointments to see the diabetes nutrition nazi and the diabetes educator.
Today's the day I'll no doubt hear about the need for a kitchen scale so I can weigh my diminutive fish filets and spinach leaves.
I've already come up with some shtick to disrupt the class. Let me try some out on you:

"Hey, those whey protein power shakes mixed with skim milk are a helluva lot better when you add a big scoop of Haagen Dasz."
"I know liquor is bad for us, so I switched to Everclear so I don't need as much to cop a buzz."
"How many carbohydrates are there in a joint?"
"To save fat grams, in my bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches, I only use half the mayo, and I stopped toasting the bread in a pan full of butter."
"Pork chops is white meat, ain't it?"
"When my glucose is high, I find a shot or two of tequila brings the numbers right down."
"I can't give up chocolate, so if I eat some now I just make myself puke it up afterwards."
"I switched to WOW potato chips, and they taste real good with sour cream onion dip."

Between comments, I'm going to hum "Ain't Nothin Gonna Break My Stride."

Tuesday, November 26, 2002

A friend from Paris sent this to me...

LONDON (Reuters)
Britons have sex more often than Americans and Spaniards,
but are outdone between the sheets by the French, Dutch, Danes and
Canadians, according to a new survey.
The Durex Global Sex survey revealed that Britons make love an average of
149 times a year, pipped only by couples in France (167), the Netherlands
(158), Denmark (152) and Canada (150).
Those taking their love-making at a more relaxed pace included Americans
(138 times a year), New Zealanders, (135) and the Spanish, who limped in at
an annual love rate of just 121.
Some 3,500 people from the UK took part in an online survey organised by
condom manufacturer Durex which polled 50,000 people worldwide.

Sunday, November 24, 2002

What Do You Want For Christmas?

I have no idea what I want and I don't know what to get Aviva.
I need ideas.
Here's what I don't want:
Chia anything
Beanie Babies
Teddy bears
Anything by Ronco
Inspirational books
...and much more.
Now, what do I buy a nice Jewish girl for Christmas?
Ward and Gatti

Did anyone see the Mickey Ward and Arturo Gatti fight on HBO last night?
Damn, it was just like the old time, Gillette sponsored fights.
Two Palookas trading punches like Rock 'em Sock 'em robots. Wowzah!

Saturday, November 23, 2002

If we were dumbass hicks

My lover is bright. Nothing escapes her sharp eyes or ears. I get by with nothing.
I want us to become dimwitted hayseeds.
I want us to be called Lurlene and Hank.

Lurlene: I think yer damn blog wuz too damn personal 'bout me the other day.
Hank: So, what of it?
Lurlene: I have some gol dern issues with it, at's all.
Hank: Issues? You been watchin' Oprah again.
Lurlene: Well, so what if I was, whatta you goin' to do about it?
Hank: How 'bout I take you to the five and dime and buy you somethin' purty?
Lurlene: Like what?
Hank: Whatever you like, doll baby.
Lurlene: What about a new hairnet and some lawn flamingos?
Hank: At'd be okay.
Lurlene: Well, go get the truck warmed up then.
Hank: Can we have some make up sex first?
Lurlene: As long as you don't touch my hairdo.
Hank: Okay, then. Take off them stretch pants, doll baby, and come 'ere and gimme some.
Lurlene: Oh Hank, you say the sweetest damn things.

Yep. Life would be so much simpler.
Ennui Blog

Ever had one of those days when nothing seems to matter?
Seems my life is in one big holding pattern.
I am bored. I am restless. I am feeling under the weather.
I have chores to do that I am avoiding.
I think I'll go root through my closets and get rid of a ton of crap I no longer wear.
Shoes, too.
Maybe that'll help.

Friday, November 22, 2002


Hard to believe I've had 25,000 hits since November 2001.
Seems like just yesterday I ruined my BlogBack account with my 10,000 hit sweepstakes. BlogBack Marcus still has my kiss prints on his butt from my pleading to get my comments back.
I am sick tonight. I have either Formula 409 poisoning, bronchitis, a common cold or allergies. I am thinking wine would help any of those maladies, but wine has sugar and blah, blah, blah, you know the routine.
I have settled on two Canadian Tylenols with codeine. They don't really help the symptoms, but they make me feel naughty and that alone helps me feel better.
Anyone know where I can get specific flavors of sugar free Jelly Bellies? I like the popcorn, cherry and one of the yellow ones. The pink ones are pretty awful. So are the pear ones.
I have started to grow feathers and fins from my new diet. Sooner or later I am going to have to bust loose on some red meat. I am thinking a Thai steak salad with a peanut dressing I rework without sugar.
I read a vegan diet can put diabetes II into total remission. Too bad all my experiences with vegans are that they are pains in the ass to eat with and hell to cook for. What are they allowed to eat, anyway? Black beans? Feh.
Liza and David were just on ET. Yikes. They are even funnier on Codeine.
Miss World: Infidels and Demon Spawn in Swimwear

From Reuters:
...The Miss World contest, which Nigerian officials hope will showcase the country and add to its tourist appeal, initially ran into trouble amid worldwide publicity over Amina Lawal, a 31-year-old woman who was sentenced under Islamic law to death by stoning for bearing a child out of wedlock.
Following assurances by the government that no one would be stoned, some 90 contestants arrived in Nigeria last week, with many voicing support for Lawal and other women sentenced to death by courts enforcing Islamic sharia law.....

Lemme see if I got this straight.
It's okay for an Islamic man to knock up an Islamic woman, but she faces death by stoning if she is discovered. Gee, that sounds fair. "Sharia" must mean ridiculous in whatever language it is.
Now I am no beauty pageant fan, but I don't mind them. It's not my thing, but neither are tractor pulls.
That doesn't mean I think either should be banned, nor does it mean I think my values are any more or less important than anyone else's, unless someone else's includes stoning to death an unwed mother, disrupting an ages old beauty contest or otherwise smashing their beliefs into people's faces by whatever means possible.
Who is the Allah guy? He doesn't sound like any manifestation of God I've ever read about. More importantly, why would anyone choose to follow a deity whose tenets are so archaic they disrupt the entire world?
Why are intelligent women still following this ass backward religion?
I mean, I was born Catholic, but I realized by age 12 they were selling crap I wasn't in the market for. I had a choice and I made it.
Any woman who tolerates any religion that has no tolerance for women should wise up and smell the mint tea. Are there no learned Islamic women willing to come out and denounce this hate mongering, dogmatic, sexist religion?
What exactly are the payoffs of being an Islamic woman? You tell me. I can't see any.

Thursday, November 21, 2002

Survivor: Pick a scum, any scum

Hoo, Boy.
Even the pointy brass immunity necklace looks like shit.
Let's see what scumsuckers we have left:

Brian Heidik: Apparently he didn't hide much dik in his semi-soft porn days, but he did manage to hide his affluence until his wife, Bimbo Heidik, tipped off the other vultures.
He's in danger now.
Jake Billingsly: This geezer has some kind of magic immunity for now. He's harmless and kind of funny, though he has become quite the gasbag with his macho tales.
Jan Gentry: I think she's been around so long because people instinctively ignore her and have gotten used to her not really being there. Plus she's too icky to kiss good-bye.
Helen Glover: "Then you take some butterscotch chips and sprinkle them over the toasted coconut and bake it at 350 degrees in an 8 inch jellyroll pan..." She's using the Betty Crocker routine to sand the edges off her rough cedar veneer. I still like her and I think everyone else likes her, too.
Clay Jordan: Why he hasn't been ambushed, killed and used in Helen's jerk chicken recipe is beyond me.
Penny Ramsay: Pact with the devil. Gives free nocturnal blow jobs. She must.
Ted Rogers, Jr.: His only salvation is that his jelly belly makes everyone else feel svelte.

Okay, I have no idea how these people evaluate each other anymore after they booted Ken, so I am going to pretend I am a Chewy Suck member and vote off Clay.
And if Clay isn't it, then Jan is.
Survivor picks coming later. Work beckons.
I have bronchitis and a low grade fever.
Yeecch, what a Thursday.

Wednesday, November 20, 2002

Prince Michael II

Seems Michael Jackson is in trouble for holding his latest victim... eh, son over the edge of a fourth floor balcony at a German hotel.
Six month old Prince Michael II was photographed being held by his... eh, daddy as he dangled over the balcony so well wishers below could see him. The child had a cloth over his head but his bare feet and legs showed him to be the same pale white skin color as his father.
Let's discuss:
1. Who would turn over an infant to this freakazoid?
2. Does anyone on Earth believe these kids were sired by him, and if so, does anyone think it was done the old penis and vagina way?
3. Does anyone doubt that Michael is a pedophile, specifically with little boys?
4. Has anyone out there actually purchased a Michael Jackson CD or tape since they heard he was a kiddie diddler?
5. Didn't he used to be black?
6. Did his nose ever up and fall off?
7. Do you think he got his mitts on Webster or Macauley Culkin when they were tots?
8. Do you think he was into Bubbles the chimp sexually?
9. Do you think Michael Jackson actually have sex with Lisa Marie Presley?
10. What would Elvis have thought of his baby girl marrying MJ?

Tuesday, November 19, 2002

Midweek Haiku

Here we are, humpday
Going out to lunch today
Oh boy, more salad!

My poor Aviva
Has to go back to the pit
And deal with more crap

I noticed today
The cats eat like I do now
Kibble, in a bowl

I had a nice dream
Eating coffee Haagen Dasz
Woke up to soy flakes

Thirty-three more days
Til' I see Canuck again
Celibacy sucks.

My pants are baggy
So are my shirts and sweaters
A silver lining!
I Need Some Contributions

No, not the paypal kind where you chip in for my blog efforts. If I started getting paid for blogging, I'd feel like it was a job and I'd have to be more careful with what I wrote.
I need contributions for Aviva's brilliant new project, a soundtrack CD for her office.
She needs songs about the drudgery of working for a maniac.
My first suggestion was "Car Wash" by Rose Royce.
She added, "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor.
Johnny Paycheck's "Take this Job and Shove it" was deemed too blatant to make the cut. You know how subtle those damn Canadians can be.
I suggested "Working for the Man" by Roy Orbison.
She threw in "Another Brick in the Wall" by Pink Floyd.
I suggested "These Boots Were Made for Walking" by Nancy Sinatra and "You Don't Own Me" by Leslie Gore, but I think Aviva's polite silence ruled them out.
Oooh, I just thought of another. "The Thrill is Gone" by B.B. King. That would work.
So what have you got?
Odds and Ends, Mostly Odds

These self actualization rackets like the Landmark Forum and the Work of Byron Katie continue to get on my nerves. I am safe from direct effects of it, but it's tearing my heart out to see what it's doing to the two women I love most.
My poor girlfriend's idiot zombie boss is breaking all kinds of employment agreements on one side and hawking up platitudes about integrity on the other. Fuck that shit. Walk it, don't talk it. Show, don't tell.
My best friend Anna's husband is walking around in a daze. He's someone I love and consider a dear friend, but he's been avoiding me like I'm smegma. He must know I'd ask him where the fuck his head has gone.
These brainwashing groups may start with the noble idea of providing insight to the mind-needy, but once the money starts rolling in, the original intent becomes polluted. They offer the suckers some intangible thing they think they need, but it's all just smoke and mirrors.
They appeal to the habitual personality, the addict, the soul starved. People don't seem to get they already have everything they need within to find serenity and peace.
All they need to do is live a decent life, don't fuck people over if they can help it, and try to accept change as a part of life, and presto, serenity will be there.

Meanwhile, my 90-year-old mother's cheese is slipping off her cracker.
Senility is overtaking her like a greyhound in a weenie dog race. We are going to take her out of the deluxe, fancy pants assisted living place we put her in last October and put her in a smaller place where they bring her meals and give her meds without her having to figure out when to eat and when to pop her pills.

My life is fine now. I've accepted my diabetes sentence and yesterday I broke down and bought some sugar free Jell-o. I hated it before, but after three weeks of no sugary stuff at all, it tasted like raspberry manna from Heaven.
Maybe it's been the exercise and clearing out the starch and sugar from my intestinal track, but my mind is clearer now and I find myself calmer and more patient. Little problems with Aviva that used to drive me over the edge just don't seem important anymore.
Maybe we just relaxed and started loving each other.
Not to get biblical (oy vey!) but I am reminded of Paul to the Corinthians:
Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It is not rude. It is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered. It keeps no records of wrongs. Love always hopes. Love never fails.
I'm not there yet in every line, but it is something to shoot for.

Monday, November 18, 2002


I had a little trouble wrapping my brain around The Sopranos last night.
Too many creepy things happening.
That horse portrait Pauly had turned into a Napoleonic thing- that was just wrong.
Christopher's intervention, that I liked, especially the free-for-all ending.
I can't believe he sat on the dog and smothered it. If any stoned moron did that to one of my kitties, I'd have to smother him or her.
Why did Tony shtup that one legged Russian chick? What happened to that woman that he stole from Ralph? I would have liked to watch a little more of her writhing around.
Tony is on Prozac- how is he getting it up to be so damn promiscuous? I tried Prozac once and Michelle Pfeiffer herself couldn't have awakened the little dead man in the boat.
And Florio and Carmella, no no no! We just know she's gonna do him and we just know Tony's gonna find out and have him thrown into a wood chipper. If Carmella really has feelings for Florio, she needs to strap on a chastity belt and keep him off her. Besides, all he brought her from Italy was vinegar. What kind of seduction gift was that?
The show last night was written by someone on acid, I think.
It was kind of like the Sopranos, but it was wayyy off the usual mark.
Woo, What A Late Start!

Uh oh. I am on deadline and I awakened at 9:45 this morning.
Apparently Mr. Sandman stayed over because he liked my down comforter, that slothful bastard.
So I crawled out of bed, showered, shivered, brewed some coffee and opened my e-mail to find a jackpot of Jewish notes. Three from Aviva, two from a Parisian Jew on my list and a few from my new best e-friend, Jodi the Kosher recipe girl.
You may as well start reading Jodi's blog, "Because I Said So." It's newly linked to the left and she's funny.
Here's what's not so funny.
My dear Aviva is the one whose boss has been insisting everyone take the post est Landmark Forum, and last week he had everyone at work in a state of shock with his lengthy meetings about the forum, his perma-glazed facial expression and his yammering on and on about "integrity" and being "authentic."
Aviva has the experience, people skills and employee support to literally walk away and start her own business, but she's not the type to do that. Nor is she a confrontational type. But I am thinking she's not going to take much more of this idiot's crap, so everyone please join me in sending her some take-no-crap vibes. Kick his ass, baby!
Also, today is my good friend and ex lover Cris'es birthday.
She's so cool, as her gift to herself she's quitting her megabuck job today. Yep, she's going to give herself the gift of herself. Cris is an overachiever. She has an MA in psychology and an MBA. She also has a wonderful artist inside her, and that's who's going to be free to grow in a few weeks. I couldn't be happier for her. Happy Birthday, Cris!
Meanwhile, I have to work.
My editor extended our magazine publication deadline until Friday, so I don't have to work *hard* I just have to show a little progress.
That means I am logging off, going out to forage for this week's meager food supply, and get my hormone prescription refilled before I turn into the Wolfman.

Sunday, November 17, 2002


Last night I saw the Salma Hyeck movie "Frida," about Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. It was absolutely stunning.
From the many books I've read about Kahlo and from a historical perspective, this movie was right on target.
Salma Hyeck is so sexy my eyes rolled back in my head. The tango scene with Salma and Ashley Judd would turn even the staunchest straight girl into a lesbian.
The story between Frida and Diego Rivera was complicated and very aptly illustrated the thin line between love and hate, and the pain two people who love each other can cause.
His oafish charm and her intensity and beauty reminded me of my own relationship in some ways, except I am not a bad ass cheater like he was.
The Mexican history and cultural aspects of the movie were totally authentic.
Go see it. Talk about it. Even the soundtrack was good.

Saturday, November 16, 2002

Diabetes Dietribe

Well, so far so good. I've lost 5 pounds in two weeks and have been mired in a miasma of culinary confusion. It's been a challenge to make delicious foods without butter, starch or sugar, but I'm getting there.

The Good:
Pam butter flavored cooking spray. I don't care if it kills cockroaches, I'm using it.
Pine nuts. Sprinkled on salads, they make it seem less like a diet drudge.
Dr. Brown diet black cherry soda. Aviva turned me on to this and it's fabulous.
Lipton diet Brisk tea. Yum.
Baby spinach, arugula and carrot threads. Sold in a bag, I have it every day to cancel out that disgusting green leafy vegetable requirement.
Tuna in a vacuum packed bag. Not too bad. The albacore is actually good.
Rainbow sugar free 100% whole wheat bread. Not too bad.
Promise fat and sugar free margarine. Suspicious, but not bad on toast.
Tilapia. A nice, white, mild fish.
Salmon. Impossible to screw up salmon.
Mustard. Sort of like mayonnaise, okay, at least it's wet.
Kashi Go Lean Crunch cereal. Soy beans I think, but pretty good. Another Aviva thing.
Hard boiled eggs. Perfect for those times I am about to freak out. Seventy calories of pure protein. Aviva strikes again.
Almonds. Especially tamari almonds. Yum. Also nice on salads and spinach. Thanks again, Aviva.
Sugar free Jelly Bellies. A dozen of these during a bad sugar Jones will save my life, I just know it.
Diet 7-up. Diet Sprite is slimy. D7up is good.
Skim milk. Okay, without the occasional 6 inch stack of Oreos or packet of graham crackers, milk isn't a beverage anyway, so what the heck.
Glucerna diabetic meal replacement bars. Not bad in a pinch.
Borden's No fat half and half. Hello again, coffee!
Couscous. Love it. What is it? I don't care, I love it.
Diet Mountain Dew and diet Red Dew. Yum!

The Bad:
Stevia sugar substitute. This is said to be the Mercedes Benz of healthy alternatives to sugar, but it tastes like crap. Sweet n' Low is better, even if it does cause mutations.
PowerBar Protein Plus bars. Zero grams of sugar but 17 grams of "alcohol sugar." That seems worse to me than sugar.
Diet IBC root beer. Just doesn't cut it.
Diet Coke. After 40 years of Coke, I just can't make the switch.
Tofu. Fuck tofu and the horse it rode in on.
Soy beans, roasted and salted. See tofu.
Diabetic cookies and jams. Sneaky sugars like mannitol and fructose. Liars!
Diet Sprite. Slime.
Diet ranch dressing. Huh uh.
Whey protein powder. Oh my God, it tastes like chocolate beef. Disgusting!
Egg beaters. I'd rather not, thanks.
Sugar free Jell-o. I don't even like regular Jell-o.

What Unmitigated Gall

I read this quote from a UP article about the recent Hebron situation.

"In the Gaza Strip, hundreds of Islamic Jihad supporters rallied in celebration. Abdullah Shami, a leader of the group, said "there is no room to give up or to surrender to this criminal Nazi enemy who seeks to exterminate Palestinians in collusion with America.''

Calling Jews Nazis just shows what assholes these Islamic "Jihad" clowns are.
If Abdullah Salami had even a nodding acquaintance with the Nazis and the Holocaust, he'd know to shut his ignorant falafel hole.
His comparison is beyond tasteless, it's hateful. His "leadership" role casts aspersions on every Palestinian, and doesn't do a lot for Islam, either.
I hate war, but this guy I'd shoot myself.
Almost a Year Later

My first bloggoversary is November 30.
I reread some of my first blogs and it amused me to see how far I have and have not come. Like a raccoon, I seem to often take one step forward and two steps back.
The thing is, I am basically happy despite all my potential woes.
Something new this year are the friends I have made in this weird Blogging medium.
Joel Sax over at Emperor Norton did a little acknowledgment to his blog link writers and I think I'll do the same.
BarCodeKing. My first straight male bloglink and someone near to my heart because he is so different from anyone else in my life. He's cranky. He's politically somewhere to the right of Spiro Agnew. He argues with me. He doesn't care about shoes. He can be hilarious when he wants to be.
Shelley at Cynical Life. She's just the sweetest Jewish Yankee girl and she gives great comments. She is chicken soup in girl form.
Decaf Venti Shari. She writes delicate little hors d'oeuvre blogs. She's gentle and fun.
GreyBird. I love the Bird and our friendship extends past this medium. She's mature beyond her years and a great confidant. Plus she does all my tech shit.
Hoopty. When I feel insane I read his blog and feel much better about myself. He's nuts.
Jaded Ju Jill. She's too intelligent for her own good. And she's real. And she's tough but it's a bluff.
Ordinary Morning Melly. She's my San Antonio connection. We talk all the time, late at night, solving nothing, laughing at everything. She's 23 going on 43. Brilliant.
Pax Nortana Joel. He's a sweet, vulnerable, gentle, open man.
Sal: A complaint. Another nice Jewish girl. Very smart, very kind.
Sicksider: Kimberley is the best writer in blogworld, bar none. Her intensity and brutal honesty send chills down my spine. She's got to publish a book, it's her destiny.
Smack the Weasel Robyn. Hilarious. A natural raconteur. Plus she's Jewish, and we all know what a Jew wannabe I am.
Spacemonk Mike. I love him like a brother. He's a pure soul, filled with light.
Techfluid Chari. Another phone pal. I wanna be her when I grow up.
Time for your Meds Tracy. Crazy bitch, she dragged most of us into the blog thing. She's charismatic, hilarious and with some strong editing, she could be a best selling writer!
Welcome to my life Kelly. She's a cupcake, a maniac, a brain, a wit and a cutie.
WKen. Wow. He's a womanizer, a teddy bear, a goofball and a brilliant guy, full of heart.
Thanks to all of you for making my life more interesting.

Friday, November 15, 2002

My Big Fat Ted Wedding

What's with Ted on Survivor? I am so sick of his lumbering around shirtless with that expectant mother belly wobbling all over. Just his head has lost weight, making him look like Zippy the Pinhead. Someone get a hook and drag him out of my line of sight.
Oh and Ted, not to be mean, but your baby is frightening with that junior James Brown face and hair. Sasquatch has nothing on baby girl, bless her furry little heart.
Chari over at Techfluid read my mind and stole all of my more acerbic observations already, but I will continue to gild the lily with new ones.
Jan's ass looks like 4 pounds of sausage in a 20 pound casing. Please, Jan, slip on some jeans or a sarong or something to block that frightening butt.
Penny, you are the daughter of Satan. Night vision exposes the 666 on your head. Please get thee to a nunnery- off the island.
Clay, you put the louse in Louse-iana. You'd have to move up the evolution scale to equal the charm of that pig farmer from last time. Ugh.
Jake. That Texas J.R. Ewing thing is getting old. You made the monkey yawn. Be quiet and for God's sake, put on a shirt. You need a Manzier™ to harness that floppy left breast of yours. It's bigger than mine, fer Chrissakes.
Brian: Grand piano. Beemer. Cadillac. Bimbo wife. That video from home betrayed you, you yuppie scum. You don't need the money.
Helen. Poor Helen with her face carved out of cornbread. Helen with the incongruously lilting voice and horizontal bicuspids. Helen with no husband and some big strapping kids to feed.
Give her the money. She's all we got.
Diabetes News: Part LCVIII

My first follow-up diabetes appointment was yesterday and there's been some marked improvement, so says the doctor.
Instead of four times a day, now I only have to test my glucose levels in the mornings and 2 or 3 odd times during the week.
This morning's glucose count was 126, which is only one tiny point above normal.
I think the secret is baby spinach leaves, arugula and lite balsamic vinegar and olive oil dressing. Every time I make that, my levels plunge. :)
The greatest discovery this week besides sugar free Jelly Bellies has been FAT FREE half and half. I don't know how they did it and I am not asking, but Borden's has done it and my coffee drinking days are back again!
Damn, I know I am boring lately, but this is about all I have to discuss right now, so there you have it.

Thursday, November 14, 2002

Pecked by a Thousand Ducks

I am so busy today I can't see straight.
I have eight articles to write, a doctor's appointment, groceries to buy, a bathroom to clean, dinner to cook and Survivor tonight.
And just when I get on track and start accomplishing things, I pause and hallucinate Aviva in that white sweater, smiling at me.
Tonight's pick for Survivor- gotta be a tribe merge, and adios Jan. And take your bat embryo and chicken head with you.

Tuesday, November 12, 2002

Landmark Forum

I took the est training in the 70's. It was the one where they didn't let us go to the bathroom and yelled at us for 16 hours a day, all weekend, so that we'd learn to experience life, not just live life.
It was okay, but in retrospect it was silly, costly and excessive, and had I been anything more than a naive 25-year-old, I would have told them to shove it mid-training.
In the 80's, est founder Werner Erhard (nee Jack Rosenberg) got into some IRS and media trouble and rechristened est into something he called Landmark Forum. Basically the training was the same, it just had a new name to avoid the taint of the est reputation.
Eventually Erhard sold the company to his younger brother and lammed out of the country with the money.
A friend of mine works for a small advertising company, where the boss is a recent Landmark Forum "graduate."
Though he can't really articulate or exemplify the drastic changes he says he's experienced through the training, he's a zealot who cannot resist preaching the forum gospel to his hapless employees. He jabbers forum cliches by rote, forces them to endure two hour meetings about the forum, and basically has everyone entirely freaked out.
First he offered to pay the tuition for each of his employees to take the training and its subsequent seminars. Now he's making it a condition of employment.
The trouble with cults like this is some people get wigged out and end up doing just what this joker is doing.
Another friend has a husband who's doing "the work of Byron Katie." Same basic shit with a different name. The guy is all about Byron Katie and it's screwing up his marriage and family life. As his friend, I think he's gone off the deep end.
So, as a public service, I am going to give for free the lessons of these programs so my readers can save money, time and sanity.
1. This is it. Enjoy it while you can.
2. The choices you make are what you'll get in life. Choose well.
3. You will be as happy as you make up your mind to be.
4. It's not their fault.
5. Suck it up and quit that bitching.

There. You are now a Zipdrive Seminar Graduate. Go in peace.
Sugar Free Jelly Bellies

I have found an alternative to real candy. Fake Jelly Bellies.
After a Greek "diet plate" (one tiny skewer of beef and a lot of lettuce) for dinner tonight, I found myself wanting more. More something.
I found sugar free Jelly Bellies and I am a believer.
I went to the grocery store after dinner to forage for tomorrow's meager sustenance.
I bought four ounces of salmon, four ounces of tilapia, 6 cremona mushrooms, 2 bananas, a small orange, 2 six packs of diet black cherry soda, two whole wheat bagels and some soap that smells like lemon grass. And those fabulous sugar free Jelly Bellies.
My culinary life is starting to look like that of a Tibetan monk's, except for the Jelly Bellies and black cherry soda.
I can't believe a dozen faux Jelly Bellies have made such an impact.
The grocery store I went to has a "diabetic section." It consists of cookies and jams that have no real sugar but tons of disguised sugar, so they are just about as bad. I read the labels and snorted in derision.
So far the only upside of this shit is that my pants are all loose now.
My fingertips look like pin cushions from all the glucose testing.
And I miss that Canuck. Like crazy.

Hmm... getting back to work is a trifle challenging today.
I have eight articles to write and maybe a dozen people to interview, but I had to catch up on my blog links and that takes time.
Two weeks into my brand new diabetes and I have to say it's not the most rewarding challenge I have faced in my life.
Aviva and I walked for at least a few hours every day, we ate pretty sensibly and my glucose levels are still averaging in the mid to high 100's, which sucks. Must have been the wine. Note to myself: find a diabetes/wine loophole.
Canada was good for reducing external stress. It was nice to be in a no war zone and not have to listen to a nonstop media barrage of Bush vs Iraq.
Canadians are a little formal but generally as sweet as lambs, and they don't like all this jingoistic aggression.
Aviva gave me a huge bag of Canadian chazarai (tschatzkes) and I bought another pile of stickers, magnets, decals, flag and patches. I have an Army fatigue jacket I plan to festoon with Canuck patches as my own little war protest garment.
When I told people in Montreal I was from Texas, they gave me sort of a smile/cringe.
I felt I had to quickly add that I was neither a Bush fan nor a war monger.
We have much to learn from our Canuck cousins.
For instance, their immigrants are far less Canadianized than we expect ours to be, and the natives just deal with the differences more peacefully.
They don't even honk their horns at idiots.

Monday, November 11, 2002

Canadia Revisited: Part Two

On Friday, we ate dinner in Old Montreal at Gibbys
, in a building erected in the 1600's. We sat by the fireplace. Aviva by firelight is better than chocolate. Then we went home and explored international relations in depth.
On Saturday, we celebrated being Jewish. Aviva took me to see her childhood homes, her elementary school and high school. It was very sweet to see where she used to hang out when she was a pint-sized Canuck.
We finished up at Cavendish Mall, home of many elderly Jewish people who squat at the food court nursing a cup of coffee for hours on end. I bought the Roots store out of
T-shirts, and I also got a little silver star of David I now wear next to my St. Christopher's medal on a chain around my neck. Hey, may as well hedge my bets.
Aviva gave me a two inch thick wad of Canadian Tire money in a red Roots wallet. We went there and I converted it into a Bare Naked Ladies CD.
We went home and rested, then dressed for dinner. She wore a black skirt and a white, lacy sweater. As we exited the taxi, several drivers eyed her and ran their cars into light poles. A horse attached to a carriage reared up and whinnied at the sight of her. Pedestrians ran into mailboxes and stepped in puddles. I was puffed up like an adder walking next to her.
We ate at an elegant French seafood place called la Meree. The service was tuxedoed, very French and impeccable. I asked about dessert and the waiter said, "Non, first you have zee cheese plate." I said, "Cheese plate?" He said "Oui, a leetle camembert, some brie, a leetle port salut, some muenster, some sweeze." So we had cheese after our stupendous Caesar salad por deux, grilled halibut and some kind of lobstery thing.
Singing star Bono was at the next table, in a foul humor.
Diabetes be damned, I had a glass of port after dinner and we were drunker than Cooter Brown leaving the place. International relations improved and several bilateral agreements were firmed up afterwards.
Sunday night. Ahhh. Dinner at home. Aviva made the best lasagne on Earth. We shared a bottle of Puligny Montrachet. Cue camera to waves crashing on beach, with fireworks.
Monday morning. Yeecch. Parting was such sweet sorrow.
I just love that girl.
Canadia Revisited: Part One

I love Montreal.
Aviva and I had the most wonderful time together, except we suck at good-byes.
Thursday night we drove home through some slushy snow to watch Survivor together.
The outcome was disappointing and ruined my 100% average. But I really didn't care.
Friday morning we lolled around, then took a taxi downtown, where we trudged around a million cool shops and split a smoked meat sandwich at this multi level restauranteria.
Smoked meat is some kind of Montreal tradition. It's kind of like pastrami, served on rye with mustard. It's good.
Then we hit the casino.
I promptly lost $40 in loonies. Then Aviva started playing a quarter slot machine and won $55. She gave me the money and we left. I like that in a gambling companion.

Sunday, November 10, 2002


My stay here is about over, I leave tomorrow.
We've had some snow and rain but overall it's been pretty nice.
Monday night I'll be doing a big old travelogue.
The women in Montreal are really pretty. They dress well and have a certain style all their own.
None compare to Aviva. She's the prettiest, womaniest woman I have ever met.
She confounds me and astounds me.
And with Montreal as a backdrop, it's been a hell of an adventure.
See y'all tomorrow.

Wednesday, November 06, 2002

Survivor Picks!

Before I go...
I see two women in the crosshairs this week.
From the Suck Joy tribe, look for slippery Slytherin Penny from Plano to get the boot.
From the Chew Me Guy tribe, it's time for Jan to get her hillbilly butt back to Bugtussle.

True, I can't stand Clay but he's like a certain GOP family- creepy but hard to get rid of.
Both 'ladies' have used up their nine lives. Penny is shifty and Jan is way too Minnie Pearl to stomach much longer.

Your picks?

Mensa Mensa

I am a perfect blend of agony and ecstasy today.

Republicans elected out the yin yang. Look out, economy! Hello war!
Hear me now and believe me later- the surplus is gone, the war is going to screw up the economy even worse and only the GOP's and their cronies will get rich off this.
Dubya is a Madison Avenue creation and the voters fell for it.
Kind of like the Pet Rock.
The Senate and Congress are crawling now with Republicans, like cucarachas in a dirty kitchen.
Say good-bye to the arts, human rights, gay rights, prescriptions for elderly, and basically anything that doesn't embrace white rich men and their wives.
Fuck it. It's gonna be a long two years.

When the going gets rough on the homefront, what better to do than board a plane and go to Canada to indulge in practices that would melt the Grecian Formula out of the GOP's hair?
The thought of seeing Aviva tomorrow night in Montreal cancels out the agony of the elections.
No news, no computer, no cares, just her.
Life can be sweet, even with diabetes and a shitload of new Republican crooks, ready to do the bidding of the Idiot Prince.

See you folks in a few days. :)

Tuesday, November 05, 2002

Good Voter Haiku

Mikey the Spacemonk
I knew he'd do the right thing
Namaste, buddy!

Chari Techfluid
Voted in Florida, hmm?
Is your chad dimpled?

Apocalypse pd
Had to vote for some indies
No dems over dere

Barcodie, gee whiz
A straight, male republican
What you doin' here?!?

Kelly, 23
Already knows the true score
Vote Reps in, get war

Melly in Tulsa?
I don't recall being asked
If you could leave town

Greybird, we await
Did you vote for Democrats
or were you Bushwacked?

Barcodie loves bush
I can't really blame him though
I love to jab bush
A Free Haiku, All About You

Go to the polls today, vote the Democratic ticket, come back here and tell me about it and I'll write a free haiku, all about you.

Just do it.

Monday, November 04, 2002

Rain Brain Drain

I am so sick of this rain in San Antonio, I'm about to scream.
It's the kind of chilly rain where you have to use the defroster in the car.
It's been relentless for as long as I can remember.
My house is damp inside from the constant drip, drip, drip, outside.
On Thursday, they are forecasting 72º and sunny skies here. That's the day I fly into rain and snow in Montreal.
Somehow the idea of rain and snow, or even hellfire and brimstone with her is appealing.
I'm here this week physically, but my heart and soul seem to have already migrated North.
Uh oh. I got it bad.
Next I'll start ending sentences with "eh."

Sunday, November 03, 2002

Another Encounter

On Thursday I'll be flying up to Montreal to see Aviva again.
We've ironed out so many past wrinkles but our relationship is like linen, fine but not exactly maintenance free.
One must pay a price when mutual intelligence and intensity mix with passion, love, fear and caution.
Both of us are having to ante up, but so far the jackpot is worth the risk.

Share your thoughts:
When is it time to suspend doubt and leap into the void?
What are the keys to a healthy and happy relationship?
How or why did you and your lover/partner/spouse decide to make it official?
Marriage/living together: Is it worth it?

Saturday, November 02, 2002

Diabetes Dinner

I think I may be getting the hang of my epicurian diabetes dilemma.
Tonight I am making my first official "I have diabetes" dinner.
-Broiled salmon with lime and ginger (I skipped the butter)
-Roasted tiny new potatoes with fresh rosemary (I used olive oil)
-Steamed asparagus with lemon
No bread, no butter, no dessert, but I will have a pear or apple later.

I think chocolate may be more addictive than cigarettes.
Snow in Montreal

Whenever I travel, people always tell me to pack something warm.
My body temp runs normal, but I always feel about 10 degrees hotter than everyone else, so usually I am fine in any climate with a shirt and maybe a sweater or light jacket.
It's 27ºF in Montreal right now and maybe snowing.
I think I may need a coat.
I have only seen snow maybe three times in my life. Come Thursday, looks like I will get a fourth chance.
I have learned that making snow angels is vastly overrated as a snow activity. So is throwing snowballs at people who don't like things thrown at them. I will just have to settle for sitting by a fire with a hot, unbuttered non-rum and a hot, buttery woman.
I think I can manage the sacrifice.

Friday, November 01, 2002

All Soul's Day

Today would have been my grandmother's 115th birthday.
It's All Soul's Day, or Dia de los Muertes for the Hispanically inclined.
It's the one day of the year when the veil between life and death is the thinnest.
It's the day when spirits and souls are celebrated.
It's the day cemeteries in San Antonio are festooned with flowers, mariachis and families offering goodies to the departed.
I'd like to go to the cemetery today and pay my propers to the ancestors.
Only trouble is, I feel a little chained to the house so I can do my feedings and bloodletting to try to force my glucose levels under 160.
Anyway, I might go and collect my 90-year-old mother and drag her to the cemetery in spite of the logistics. Or maybe I'll just light some candles at home.
Whatever I decide, today I'll ponder my dead relatives, friends and my soulmate who died in '89. I wish them well, wherever they are.
Since Halloween was on Survivor Thursday, I hid out in the back of my house instead of distributing the free AOL trial CDs I was planning to give out.
I used to hand out those really cool little chocolate bars, but I wasn't about to have those scattered around, whispering "eat me."
Halloween, being the high holy day of queerdom, used to be one of my favorite days of the year. It was a night of drunken merrymaking and untold indulgences.
Now a KitKat bar and a martini could put me in a coma.
Yep. This year I went as a hyperglycemic. Trick or Trick!