Follow by Email

Thursday, August 28, 2008

What makes you think I'm in drag?

Looking down at my outfit today, I'm smacked with the realization that I am a borderline drag king. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to put on fake facial hair and sideburns, bind my boobs down, cut my hair short(been there, done that), start working on cars and acting like a dude. But most of my clothes, besides my unmentionables('cept a few pairs of boxer briefs), were purchased in the men's department...of Old Navy. Is it a comfort thing? Perhaps. Maybe I like looking frumpy. Or maybe I just like looking like a chick(all tits and curly hair) in men's clothes. I don't know what it is, and maybe I never will. But it reminded me of a boog I wrote back in April of 2006 after attending my friend Nora's bachelorette party. In honor of my drag-ish appearance, here is that boog detailing the first time I fell in love with a drag queen...queen...not king...QUEEN!!!

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

I'm in love with a drag queen...

How did this happen? Let me lay the foundation for you....
Last Saturday I was attending a bachelorette party for a dear, dear friend of mine. The evening was chock-full of fantabulous bachelorette-ish activities, including a stripper or 2, some pretty raunchy and serious dancing, a party bus, and topped off with a nice helping of the Baton Club.

The night was going well for me, not too drunk, not too sober...I was juuuuuuuuuust right. We arrived at the Baton at midnight and waited patiently for the 12:30am show to start. When it did, I was pleased to discover that 4 lovely ladies were popping the night off with "Free Your Mind" by En Vogue. One of them caught my eye, and I said, to no on in particular, "I like the one on the right." After their performance, there was some filler, the obligatory "I Touch Myself" routine filled with self-touching, then....it happened. My "one on the right" was up and decked out in full Janet Jackson attire. Then she started to do her thang, and to my delight, she performed "If" to near perfection. Now, for those of you who know me, you know why this is a big deal. "If" is my jam, and I spent months attempting to perfect the moves in high-school. I still have the friggin VHS tape and, if not for my creaky knees, I might still be dancing along with it in my living room 7 days a week for hours at a time. I pretty much consider myself an "If" connoisseur, and kind of a huge loser, but whatever. That alone was enough to make me love her, but she wasn't done...

A couple of numbers later, my girl was up again, this time...Beyonce..."Bootylicious". I was beside myself and wriggling in my chair like a puppy who had to piddle...in fact I think I did have to piddle, but that's a tale for another time. Anyflipper, it was as if she was performing just for me, even though she didn't even know I was there or who I was. By the time she came on for her third song(something by Paula Abdul, all those songs sound the same to me...but don't think for one minute that I don't love me some Paula!) I was blinded...by love, by Captain Morgan, perhaps a mixture of two. It didn't matter, she had me. I love-drunked my way to the side of the stage so I could be closer. I had a vision of me suavely handing her a $20 bill and tossing her a wink, her tossing one back and blowing me a kiss. It didn't go like that. I drunkenly thrust the bill at her and she smiled and walked away. I scrounged in my pocket for more money, I had to try again, I had to do better. All I came up with was a wadded-up dollar and hoped that would be good enough. I stood by the side of the stage, leaning toward her, she came over, I froze, mouth agape complete with a drool accessory, I meekly handed her my lame dollar and as she turned to walk away, I blurted out " I love you!" like the Queen of Dorks that I am.

After the show, a nice man who saw my desperation introduced me to my love. I don't remember what come out of my mouth, probably something resembling the noise Chewbacca might make if he were drunk. Someone took our picture, but who knows if I'll ever see it. And so ends the sad tale of my love for a drag queen...sigh...

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

What's in a name...

I just found out that my name, Meta, is the 2,397th most popular name in the country and that there are 6,100 other people with the first name Meta. WTF?!? That's 6,000 more people than I want having the name "Meta". Nice job on the rare name, Kate and Phil. How rare can a name be if 6,100 other people have it? So much for my theory that I don't need a last name, like Madonna or Cher, clearly I do so I'm not mistaken for the other 6,099 people named "Meta". I mean, who is gonna confuse Madonna Jones for Madonna who sings dances and is bendable? No one, that's who! Unless they are the spitting image of one another and Madonna Jones is also a singer...and also is bendable. I shouldn't be talking about Madonna Jones, I don't even know her.

My point is, I can't just use "Meta" as my only name because what if, just what if I leave an important message for someone and say "Call me back, I have free Madonna tickets...actual Madonna, not Madonna Jones...oh yeah, it's Meta" and the person CALLS THE WRONG META! I mean, the poor person will miss out and call some other Meta because I didn't have enough sense to use my last name. Or what if, just what if, I get picked for Jeopardy!(I'm very smart, this boog proves it) and I just give my first name on the application thinking "no one can mistake me for anyone, I'm Meta, bitch" and Alex Trebek gets on the phone and calls Meta Larsen from Shreveport. And I know that Alex would be the one making that call! It would be a tragedy.

I guess I should count my blessings that I found this out before I got all Meta-cocky and dropped "Kroker" from my name. And I guess I should also count my blessings that my name isn't Elizabeth, then there would be about 1.5 million people I could get mistaken for if I didn't have a last name. And now that I know there 304, 976,555 people in the US(I don't know if they count homeless people) and only 6,100 have my first name and only 1 with my exact name, I realize I should just shut the hell up.

http://howmanyofme.com/

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Goose me...

So this morning, like every morning Monday through Friday, I found myself driving to work. Today I took the Madison street route, and as I crossed Des Plaines, I looked up in the sky and saw several geese in a weak "V" formation, heading south. I stared up at at them for a bit, nearly missing my right hand turn onto Lathrop. I turned, looked up at them one more time and thought "F*cking geese, they don't have to go to work. I have to go to work. Why can't I be a f*cking goose?"

Friday, August 22, 2008

Pass Me My Olympicrack Pipe...

Yesterday was a big day for Olympicrack, but sadly I missed most of it because I was sleeping. Thanks to the headlines on Yahoo though, I wasn't in the dark for long. I got ambushed while trying to sign into my mail, although it wasn't the first time I was ambushed by a results headline, so I don't know why I was surprised. Methinks my Olympicrack-addicted mind needed a fix and it forced my eyes downward, causing me to see what had taken place while I was in my Olympicrack-induced coma. Then, like a fiend, once I knew what I happened I scoured the internet for information, lapping up every word and picture I could find until I was sated.

Let's start with the bad news, and the sporting event I can barely think about because I'm so devasted by the result. The US Women's softball team lost the gold medal game to Japan and are the 2008 silver medalists. Oh my god, I just got a lump in my throat as I wrote that. The US hitters were no match for Japan's Yukiko Ueno, who after pitching 715 innings the day before, probably felt like 7 more against the US was a piece of cake. The US made two uncharacteristic errors, allowing Japan to get some State Farm. But they didn't need it, the US couldn't push more than 1 run across the plate. That run came courtesy of Marla Hooch, aka Crystl Boustos...what a hitter. Ms. Boustos also won the sportsmanship award for being the first US player to pick her jaw up off the ground and congratulate Japan on their big win. I can't blame the US for being shocked though, they haven't lost since 2000. See, that's why I prefer being a huge loser, that way I'm never disappointed! But it's the end of an era for US Softball, 5 of their top players officially retired from international competition by placing their cleats at home plate after the game. I sure hope those cleats went to some needy softball players. Farewell to Boustos, Laura Berg, Kelly Kretchman, Tairia Flowers, and 1 of my top 5 softball hotties, Lovieanne Jung. Also farewell to softball as an Olympic sport, at least for the London games. Hopefully the Japanese win will make the IOC open their stupid friggin eyes and see that softball is a global sport. By pulling it from the Olympics, they are destroying the dreams of hundreds of women and girls across the world, plus they are eliminating some 200 female athletes from Olympic competition. Just when teams other than the US start getting their talent together and solidifying their programs, the friggin IOC pulls the sport. As if softball is the only sport dominated by 1 country...hello table tennis? Badminton? Diving? As you can see, this is a sore subject with me, so I'll move on before the IOC comes a' knockin at my door. Yes it was a sad day for US softball, and softball in general and if you didn't feel like jumping into your tv a giving #1 softball hottie Jenny Finch a big hug as she wiped a tear from her eye, well then you're just not human...or you're a gay man...or a straight woman...

In other depressing Olympicrack news, the US relay teams really screwed the pooch, both teams dropping their shafts in the preliminary round. I mean, those things are hollow, so they are shafts, right? I think the official term is "baton", but those don't look like batons, they look like shafts. Shafts it is! Both teams were favored to compete for gold, both failed...wah wah. In other track and field news: racewalking is the most hilarious thing I've ever watched.

Now for the good news. I was a Negative Nelly about the US Women's soccer team as soon as my #1 soccer hottie Abby Wambach, went down with a broken leg before the Olympics. I said they didn't stand a chance for the gold without her, especially against Brazil. Boy am I eating my words...and they taste like delicious gold. Never have I been happier to be wrong about something. Well, except for one time when I thought I dislocated my shoulder but really my bra strap was too tight, but whatever. Anypiddle, in a match against Brazil in which they were basically chasing Marta and Christiane all over the field, the US came up with 1 goal in extra time and that's all they needed. Well, that and #2 soccer hottie and Olympic bad-a**, Hope Solo. For those of you who don't know, at the last Women's World Cup,Hope Solo was pulled from the match against Brazil in favor of veteran goalkeeper Briana Scurry and the US got shredded in that game. Brazil made them look as bad as my old soccer team, the Typhoons, which I played on when I was 7. They lost 4 to nothing and after the game Hope Solo ripped her coach for benching her(he is now the ex-coach) and was banished from the bronze medal game. How do you spell "redemption", Ms. Solo? How about by making 6 ridonkulous saves against one of the best teams in the world on arguably the biggest stage in the world. Yeah, I think that spells "redemption" just fine. Big ups to Carli Lloyd(#3 soccer hottie) for scoring the lone goal in the 6th minute of overtime. Also, big ups to Natasha Kai(#4 soccer hottie and she goes to my church!) for taking her top off in celebration.

In other gold medal news, the US Men's beach volleyball completed the "Sand Sweep" by taking the gold against Brazil. The US Men and Women's indoor volleyball teams both advanced to the gold medal game and the US will be looking for a complete volleyball sweep in the days to come.
Lastly, who doesn't love that whack-a-mole Usain Bolt? What a trip...

**For those of you who don't think I'm writing enough about the men, I say 'shut it'. This boog is written by a lady lover so you best believe I'm all about focusing on the womens and their *cough* athletic prowess. You want a boog about men, write it yourself**

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

I've Got Your Evil Right Here...

Do you guys remember "The Secret of Nimh"? It came up in a conversation I was having the other day, and I had this uncomfortable/sad memory flash that involved a rat and some underground thing, perhaps a tunnel. I remember watching the movie at my cousin's house, and maybe I also read the comic-type book that was the movie in a nutshell. I must have enjoyed it on some level, because I think I saw it more than once. But I definetely get a sweeping sadness when I try to remember what it's about. I did some research on it, and when I read the synopsis, I thought "Well no wonder that memory made you sad, that movie sounds sad as hell!"...A widowed field mouse(Mrs. Bisby) w/ a sick son trying to escape from a farmer's plow and having to go to the creepy owl for help(you know that owls eat mice!), and then having to deal w/ some uber intelligent rats, one that wants to kill the rat leader Nicodemus and Mrs. Bisby's kids, and she has a rat named Justin trying to help her(I have no problem with the name Justin, I just think it's a lame name for a mystical rat is all). I mean, that's an intense plot for the 6-year-old set, doncha think? I don't remember how the movie ends, I feel like Nicodemus gets killed, the plow wins and Mrs Bisby is forced into an arranged marriage w/ the evil rat Jenner. I'm sure that's not really how it goes down, but whatever, I clearly have a sour taste in my mouth from that movie. And it's not the only one from my shorty-hood, let me tell you. Don't even get me started on E.T. or Dumbo, those 2 movies jacked me up when I was a kid. What? You want to get me started on those? Oh alright, twist my arm...

Dumbo, a little movie brought to us by Disney about a circus elephant with his big ears and his ability to fly. Cute movie, right? WRONG!!! I watched this movie for the first time on ABC, which was showing it over 2 nights. I sat in front of the boob-tube wriggling with childhood glee, up until the part where they cut the movie off for the first night...rriiiigghht as Dumbo's mother gets taken from him. What? What is wrong with you, ABC? A child's number 1 fear is losing his or her mother! As a wee child, I'm supposed to go to sleep knowing that Dumbo's mom has been stolen from him and he's all alone? As a wee child, I'm supposed to go through the next day acting normal, as if nothing has happened, when for all I know, Dumbo's mom is dead? Seriously...what...the...f*ck. And Disney, you're just as much to blame for the horrible way you wrench children away from their parents in your movies, going so far as to kill some of them off. For shame, Disney, for shame. Mind you for the right amount of money, I would write a script killing off every cartoon parent from here to Timbuktu, so who am I to judge, right? But still, the little kid inside of me is totally pissed at you because you wrecked Dumbo for her, and she blames you and ABC for her abandonment issues.


E.T: The Extra Terrestrial -- like any good L.I.T.(Lesbian In Training), I was a sucker for dinosaurs, G.I. Joe's, and anything and everything outer space, sci-fi, etc. So naturally I was delighted when I heard about E.T. I went to see it at the Lake Theater, I think I was with my parents, some cousins, some aunts and uncles. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Then the movie started and the first friggin thing you see is poor little E.T. getting left behind on Earth. What is a little kid's number 2 fear behind losing his or her mother? Getting left the eff behind! My lip started to tremble and I was nearly lost in sadness. I held on for awhile, with the help of Drew Barrymore, and E.T.'s cuteness(although now that I think of it, he's not that cute). Then, things went south in a hurry. E.T. gets sick which, because of his connection to Ell-i-ott, also gets Ell-i-ott sick. They both turn a deathly shade of white, the house is quarantined, there's crazy men in horrible white suits freaking everyone out, there's screaming and running and E.T. is dying and no one around me seemed to care. I was beside myself, sobbing with such force my collarbone started to hurt. And then, E.T. has to leave Ell-i-ott and go back with his other E.T.'s, and this should have made me happy, but that music was playing, and Ell-i-ott was sobbing, and I was borderline about to throw up because I was so upset...so I left. Walked right out of the theater into the lobby and sat there and cried. Cried for the alien friend that Ell-i-ott had lost, cried for the alien friend I would never have, cried for every creature that just wanted to phone home. I was inconsolable. I vowed to never see that movie again, and I haven't. If it comes on I fly into a rage, launch a swear-ridden tirade about the evils of E.T., which has pretty much wrecked me for life.

There are other movies I'm sure(hello? The Neverending Story when the horse gets sad? Okay, now I'm crying). I know these movies supposedly have happy endings, and they are meant to teach a lesson about life, blah blah blah. But all they really taught me was how to fast forward through the sad parts, and how does that help me in real life when there's no fast forward?

Feel free to weigh in people. Which "children's movies" made you pee from fear, barf from crying, had you laid up in bed unable to eat or drink anything for days?

Friday, August 15, 2008

Myspace Throwback...

So today I wore a dirty shirt to work. This is something I do often, and it's not that hard since a lot of my shirts have stains across the Twin Peaks. But in honor of my disgustingness, here's a boog I pulled from myspace. Enjoy!

I’m a scum...

So last night, I was sitting on my couch flipping between D.E.B.S(yes, I've seen that movie and I watch it every time it's on. It's not my fault Jordanna Brewster is hot) and Pwoject Wunway, chowing down on a piece of Louisiana Crunch Cake. I dropped a piece of crunch cake icing onto the floor and for some reason decided to blindly reach down to get the hunk of icing. God forbid deliciousness goes to waste is what I say. So I feel around on the carpet for it, and my fingers brush an object closely resembling the fallen icing. Fatty McSits-A-Lot grab its and quickly shoves it into her mouth, not wanting to miss a second of the tv program. Turns out, it wasn't the hunk of icing, it was a hunk of cheese that I must've dropped during some other couch binge. I did not realize it was cheese until I had chewed it thouroughly, at which point I looked at The Joyous One and said "That wasn't the icing, that was cheese." and she goes "Well you like cheese, what's the problem?"...she's got a point. This is why I love my wife...

The Beauty Is In The Person, Not The Unitard...

The Joyous One has been buggin me for quite some time to write a boog about her hatred for a certain word in the English language. To which I kept saying "write your own damn boog about it". To which she kept saying "no". And I kept putting it off, hoping she would forget about it. However, The Joyous One has the mind of an elephant, so no chance she'll forget. Since I'm still riding the high of the Nastia/Shawn Smackdown last night, I'm in a pleasant mood, and have decided to write a boog about this word that The Joyous One hates.

Unitard...she hates it...more than she hates anything. Including this bitchy security guard who yelled at us for being on a "forbidden floor" at the Cubs Convention 3 years ago. It's so bad, that now when I hear the word "unitard", I look around nervously, on pins and needles, hoping The Joyous One didn't hear it, but knowing that when that word is uttered she's like a dog and a high-pitched whistle...she can hear it from miles away. I wait for her to come crashing into the room, enraged, foaming at the mouth screaming "I HATE THAT WORD!!". It's so bad that anytime anyone casually mentions the word "hate", she goes "You know what I hate? The word 'unitard'. I hate it more than I hate that security guard from the Cubs Convention"(That's how she gauges all things she hates) . It's so bad, that anytime anyone says the word "word", she goes "You know what word I hate...", you get the picture.

But last night, I got to thinkin(because of gymnastics and The Joyous One mentioned her unitard hatred for the 12,444th time this year)...what the hell is the difference between a leotard and a unitard? Does The Joyous One hate "leotard" as well? What part of "unitard" does she hate, the "uni" or the "tard"? If it's the "tard", then she should also hate "leotard". If it's the "uni", she should also hate "unicycle" and "unibrow"(which I do hate, mostly because I picture one at the mere mention of the word...ew). Is the "leotard" the pretty older sister of the "unitard", or are they the same thing and "leotard" is just a word made up by pretty people who thought uttering "unitard" made them ugly? So many questions...

I decided I needed answers. The "unitard" is indeed different from a "leotard". A uni goes all the way down to the ankle, according to the pictures on http://www.leotards.ca/ (they have the best selection of leotards, unitards, leggings and tights...check it out if you want a laugh) and the leotard stops at the crotch...can I say 'crotch' on tv? I'm sure most of you knew that already, so sorry for being a dumba**...that's Merta for ya! As for The Joyous One, I don't know if she hates "leotard" and "unitard" equally, and I'm not sure what part of "unitard" she hates...those are questions that may never be answered...mostly because I will forget to ask her due to my raging A.D.D. All I do know is that while unitards and leotards may be different, they are both equally hideous looking.

USA...USA...USA

Last night was my favorite night of Olympicrack ever...EVER!!! Unless you live under a rock, or are a communist, then you know that the USA went 1 and 2 in the women's gymnastics all around final. Nastia "The Blond Swan" Liukin took the gold and Shawn "Pocket Pistol" Johnson took the silver. It didn't start well, after Nastia's nearly perfect vault received a mark of 15.025(that's low for what she did y'all, just watch the tape) I thought judging was gonna be Nasti...and it was for awhile. I'm not sure what the judges were watching on their monitors, but I'm guessing it was "Lost" because that's what they seemed to be. Drawn-out delays between gymnasts, arguing, phone chatter, an angry woman in a red blazer storming all over the place, plus Elfie, Tim and Al talking sh*t about the scoring in the background made me suspicious. At one point, I'm sure I saw one of the judges on the phone say "I really don't know what I'm doing, I just needed the money".

After vault was the uneven bars. The Blond Swan was beyond beautiful w/ her graceful lines, challenging pirouettes and big air release moves. On her dismount, she stepped forward a bit, but Tim assured us it was only a .10 deduction. She scored pretty high on bars as we've come to expect from Nastia. Then came China's Yilin Yang who did a routine nearly identical to The Nasty One(I mean that as a total compliment), took the same step on the dismount and...scored higher. I know, I know, it makes no sense. And then, the icing on the shitcake, Shawn got the shaft on her near-perfect bars routine. Trust me, I was conspiracy theory-ing and "what the f*cking" all over my living room. I left quite a mess.

The "judges" finally got it together on the last 2 apparatuses(apparati?), balance beam and floor(those are also my least favorite apparati because I just picture someone smacking their face on the 4-inch beam, or building up too much steam on the floor and ending up on the judges table). Nastia and Shawn would have to be practically perfect...and they were, beating Yilin Yang to take silver and gold, breaking her heart and the hearts of 45 kajillion Chinese people. Their last two routines left no doubt who the best all around gymnasts were...USA...USA...USA.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

What they really wanted to say...

As I feeding my Olympic addiction last night, I noticed during the Men's Team Gymnastic Final that the cameraman was all about getting in Team USA's huddle. I felt bad for them, because you know they felt like they had to say all this inspiring sh*t about how they are a team, they did their best no matter what the outcome, USA rules, blah blah blah, when what they really wanted to say was "Swear to god if any of you m*ther f*ckers f*ck up on pommel horse the rest of us will break your f*cking noses!"...

Monday, August 11, 2008

Market Gays

Hey y'all, so this weekend was the Northalsted Street Market Days festival(read:an 8 block gay club w/ fried food). It's one of my favorite weekends of the year, and this year did not disappoint. There was hanging out, cruising the streets, judging of people from windows high above the crowd, laughing, jello shots, being mistaken for a worker at Yoshi's Cafe, cheeseburger eating, Expose watching, slipping on a pickle or something resembling a pickle, using of the men's room at Roscoe's, ordering and consumption of 2 breakfasts(you know who you are!), hysterical belly laughter causing toast to go in my lung, a girlfight(you know who you are!), the pulling of pancakes out of a purse, ridiculous tee-shirt purchasing, more laughing, interaction w/ an annoying stranger at Buck's, and finally watching the Cubbies win at The North End. And did I mention the laughing? Seriously, I love my friends, everyone was on fire this weekend! Thanks guys, y'all be crackin me up!

I did notice that there were an inordinate amount of purses at Market Gays. Now, I'm not a purse hater, my friends carry purses, my wife carries a purse. But there are some very irresponsible purse carriers out there, and I think most of them were at Market Gays. They swing their purses about as if unaware of their extra appendage. How am I supposed to watch Expose if I'm being shoved off the curb by a Dooney & Bourke(raise your hand if you're surprised that I busted that out)? That's right, I can't, it's distracting. And a little painful it you catch the corner of someone's purse in your ribcage. Not to mention the unfair space advantage it gives to the lady(or fashion forward man) carrying the purse. You're talking about an extra foot of space in some cases. Maybe I need to fight back, engage in some elbow-purse combat. If I stand with both hands on my hips, elbows pointed, and turn side to side, I'll create some extra room that a purse can't penetrate. Sure I'll look like an a**, but at least I'll avoid getting pursed. So if you're reading this, and you're a purse owner, please think of us wallet carrying lesbians and men, who don't have any defense against your purses. We know you don't mean it when you turn quickly and cold cock us in the chin, but it stings nonetheless. Please try and purse responsibly. This message was brought to you by LAMPPS(Lesbians And Men Protesting Purse Swinging)

Friday, August 8, 2008

Myspace boog from April 10th, 2008

Today marks the start of the 3 game weekend series at Wrigley, Cubs v. Cards. To commemorate this occassion, I've decided to repost a classic boog from my myspace page that I wrote back in April. It's about about a hot dog. If you've read it before, I hope you enjoy it again. If you're reading it for the first time, hopefully you can learn something from it.

Is that a hot dog in yer pocky, or are you just happy to see me?

So last Saturday, I went to my first Cubs game of the season. I was geeked y'all, geeked for peanuts, geeked for beer, geeked for long bathroom lines, and most of all, geeked for the grilled hot dogs with the grilled onions(I like to call them 'grillies'), and they are my friggin favorite single food item of all time.

I didn't get the grilly right away, because I feel like if I get one prematurely, it ruins the entire weiner experience. So I sat in my seat and bided my time. Around the fith inning, I felt a slight rumble in my food catcher...it was time. The Joyous One and I made a run for the grilly stand as soon as the Cubs finished up on offense. There was a line, naturally, but it was moving quick, unlike the Mai Tai line which was filled w/ over-groomed 20-somethings who probably think of Wrigley as some sort of dayclub to be used as their place to prelim before the ba-dunk-a-dunk nightclubs...to those idiots I say, whatever. But I digress...

We placed our order, picked up our grillies and the nachos w/ jalapanos and extra cup-o-cheese product(my boo loves her some nachos and processed cheese), and went over to douche our dogs w/ condiments...glorious condiments. I spied some Gulden's Spicy Brown while I was in the line, and knew immediately what route I was gonna take. We headed back to the seats with our haul, and this girl could not wait to chow down. I was bouncing around in my seat like a 3 year old hopped up on cotton candy, which was no good because then there was a delay in eating while The Joyous One distributed nachos, and moved beers into cupholders. Needless to say, I was cheesed off about the hold up. Finally it was time to become one with the grilly.

My first bite might have been the biggest bite of something that I've ever taken, and I didn't even bother to finish chewing before I went for another. I had to tell myself this was no way to enjoy a grilly, and I slowed it down, deciding to chew and cherish every bite. This worked for 1 more bite, then I was back to my old ways. In my haste to get as much grilly into my mouth as possible, a long piece of sticking-up onion went very deep into my right nostril, my power nostril. It was startling to say the least. Now, normally, an onion going in yer nose isn't a problem...unless the onion is covered in Gulden's Spicy Brown Mustard. I didn't realize that the devil's mustard was on that onion until my eyes started watering profusely, my nose started running, and then the real cause for panic, the nostril started closing up. I'm sure this was a defensive measure to stop the mustard from traveling north, thus protecting my brain from any mustard damage. Being that it was my power nostril, 'ol lefty wasn't prepared to take on the bulk of the nose-breathing, which left me with no choice but to open-mouth breath, my least favorite way of breathing. I frantically grabbed a napkin and tried to slyly get the mustard of death out of my nose. There was a lot in there, y'all. Finally, my napkin was coming out clear, so it was time to try and settle down. I sat there for what felt like 10 minutes but was probably only 3, open-mouth breathing, calming myself down, making sure no one saw what happened. Then....I resumed the chow down.

My nose wasn't the same for the rest of the evening, it felt like I had a cold, I would sporadically sneeze, plus I think that the mustard actually caused me to get much drunker than I normally would, but that's a tale for another time.

Moral of the story: demostrate caution when allowing things to go in your nose

Thursday, August 7, 2008

It's not a choice...

For years and years I've felt different. As if I were born with this thing that seperated me from a large part of the population, and it wasn't my fault, or my parents fault, or my grandparents fault, it was no one's fault and no one could change it. It was hard growing up like this. I had to come to grips with the fact that there were people who thought I wasn't "normal" and disagreed with the way I drove down this particular avenue of my life, even though I had no choice in the matter. And I've tried to be "normal", believe me I've tried. After some research, I've come to find out that in fact I was born with this, it's not a choice, and before I even entered this crazy world, this path had been laid out by my genetics. I was destined to hate cilantro.

According to studies, there is actually a genetic polymorhism for a receptor that influences the way a person senses the taste of cilantro. They don't know for sure, but it most likely is a codominant trait. People with one or more copies of one variant tend to taste it as "soapy" or "like licking a battery" in my case. You have no idea how relieved I was to find this information out. Many times people have yelled hurtful things due to my dislike of cilantro. Calling me "crazy", or telling me I don't know what I'm missing. I'll tell ya what I'd like to be missing...the cilantro in my tacos, thankyouverymuch!

I'm curious as to how many of my fellow gays are cilantro-haters. Wouldn't it be crazy if the 2 went hand in hand. Like at a young age, you could give a kid some cilantro and if they hated it, you'd know you had a big 'ol lez on your hands and you could send her away to some farm where she had room to run and play. The cilantro test would save everyone lots of trouble, years of heartache, and boatloads of questions. Like wondering why your pretty little girl refuses to wear a dress, or why your handsome young boy refuses to not wear a dress(I know I'm making sweeping generalizations here, but sometimes I feel like it) Ooh, and then those of us who "hate cilantro" could use it as a code..."Yeah, I'd like a taco, hold the cilantro"...wink. But I digress...

Hating cilantro, as well as being a big mo, are just 2 of the many things that us humans have no control over. So don't hate me because I don't like cilantro, I can't help it!

An oldie but a goodie, in honor of Bundy...

Hey y'all. So yesterday my friend Bundy punched herself in the nose while adjusting her bra strap...hmmm...she might not haven't wanted me to share that little nugget of the story, but oh well. Anynoodle, in honor of Bundy's self beating, I decided to post an old boog(hee) pulled from my myspace page in which I chronicle my own nose-punching. Here's to you, Bund!

So yesterday I was on a Southwest flight back from Buffalo, and was sitting in quite possibly the worst seat ever, the window seat in the very last row, seat 24A. The plane starts to narrow at that point, so the window seat there is quite a bit tinier than the other seats on the plane. Now, for any of you who have seen my badunk-a-dunk, you know that one thing this girl does not need is a smaller seat. Anydoodle, I couldn't switch seats because there were no empty seats on the flight. I mean, I could have switched w/ Joy but I don't like the middle, nor did I want to be all up on the stranger who had the aisle. I would rather be all up on the window.

Another thing I noticed about this row of seats was the the space between the seat in front of us was considerably smaller than the space in any of the other rows, so when the gentleman in front of me put his seat back, I could kiss him on the forehead without moving forward, which I did several times, just to make him feel good. The flight wasn't too miserable, until we actually landed and the rear door was opened in order for the garbage to be removed. The artic wind came rushing into the rear of the cabin, and then sucked back out again, taking anything that wasn't nailed down. We sat huddled together for warmth with the stranger that I previously hadn't wanted to bother. Our coats were several rows in front of us, shoved into some overhead bin, so all we had was our sweatshirts and our body warmth. When it was finally time for us to deplane an hour later, (seriously people, what the eff are you doing up there that causes you to take such a long friggin time to gather your belongings and get the eff off the plane? grab your sh*t and go. there are people FREEZING TO DEATH in the back of the plane. lickety split, beeyotches!), I grabbed my back pack from underneath my seat and pulled it out as fast as I could. Because my fingers were a wee bit frostbitten, I lost my grip on my pack and promptly...punched myself in the nose. I was stunned, kind of like I would be if someone just walked up to me and, well, punched me in the nose. I regained my composure, felt for blood, grabbed the pack and...did it again. Not as hard the second time, but still hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. After 2 punches from Meta Tyson, I decided enough was enough and pulled the pack out with my feet, shoved it into the aisle, and picked it up. As I was walking through the jetway, I started cracking up, and Joy was all "what's so funny?". So I told her I punched myself in the nose while trying to get my backpack. She was sympathetic, she did ask if I was okay after she calmed down from her hysterical laughter. What a sweetie...

Pass me the shitcake...

Every time I see the word "shitake", I read it as "shitcake". Does this mean I'm dyslexic? Illiterate? Obsessed w/ shitcake?