Please accept my apology...

I'm sorry, faithful boog readers, I just cannot get myself into a writing mood these days. Usually, my creative juices get flowing when my life is fun, and exciting, and right now, my life is blah...busy, but blah.(PS...I just read that as "busty, but blah", which also true.) And it's busy with things that I find totally boring when people talk to me about them...like Christmas shopping...and the weather. Those are two things that I loathe hearing about, yet find myself talking about constantly. As is the case right now...dammit. So in an effort to try to keep myself from boring you, I've decided against posting a stream of boogs that talk about Christmas...and the weather...hoping that if I don't bore you, you'll come back for more. But I realize that my plan has a major flaw. If I don't post anything new, people will eventually get tired of checking my boog and it'll dry up like cheese on a carpet and no one will read it ever again. This, my friends, is what we call a conundrum, which also happens to be the name of one of my favorite white wines...or maybe it's a quandary...which no wine is named after...maybe I'll say it's a conundary and I'll invent a wine...that also has vodka and Squirt in it. Gross. Okay, sorry, back to the conundary. So yeah, what is a girl to do when she doesn't want to write about the obvious things such as Christmas and the weather? As you can see, writing a nonsensical boog is the answer. A rambling, rant of a boog taken to dizzying heights of ridiculascity, filled with made up words and frequent mentions of the obvious things, such as Christmas and the weather, so she can talk about those obvious things without really talking about them. Let's see how she does.

Oh, I have something to talk about...the pedestrian crossings on Madison Street in Forest Park. I'm obsessed with them. I love nothing more than stopping for pedestrians at the legal crossings. My best days are days when there are pedestrians at each crosswalk that I can stop for. I find myself Lego-mad at peds who don't use the designated crossing area and it wouldn't surprise me to one day find myself shouting "Use the crosswalk, you ahole!" while shaking my fist at them. This brings me to an incident that happened this morning. I was driving at a slow pace down Madison, maybe I was window shopping and that's why I was going slow, I'm sure it had nothing to do with any horrible driving conditions caused by weather. Anysanta, I approached a ped Xing and noticed a mother and child waiting patiently at the crosswalk, so I pulled gently on Reggie's reigns. It took a little while, but he slowed down to a stop, and we waved the peds across the street. As they passed in front of me, I looked into my rear-view mirror and was greeted with the side view of a turquoise car, sliding merrily towards Reggie's rump. Old Turquiose eventually spun all the way around, and was facing the opposite direction on the other side of the street. The person was able to turn their car around without incident, and when I saw that all was well, I hightailed it out of there so they couldn't road-rage me. I'm not sure why this person couldn't control their car, but I'm sure it had nothing to do with any horrible driving conditions caused by weather, and their decision to drive too fast for any horrible driving conditions caused by weather. I mean, I was sitting at a dead stop for quite a spell, backwards-facing friend should have had no problem stopping in a timely fashion.

Speaking of fashion, I was at Dress Barn last night(first of all, change your name, Dress Barn, especially if half your store is for ladies of the curvy variety. How cute can a curvy lady sound if she tells people she shops at a dress barn? Where the moo-cows live? Also, Dress Barn, after you're done changing your name, call Lane Bryant and tell them to change their name as well. This curvy lady enjoys acronyms, and saying I purchased my pants at LB's is just no good.)...now where was I? Right, I was at Dress Barn last night and it was not crowded at all! Granted, I'm not sure why this surprises me, I mean, there could have been a crowd if say, horrible weather was being forecast and people needed to get major shopping done for, say, Christmas or something, but whatever. So I'm at Dress Barn noticing the non-crowd and I started wishing that if I were to be purchasing gifts for a major holiday, say, Christmas, that all of my purchases could have been made at Dress Barn(this became an even bigger wish when Emily and I went to Target, which was described so eloquently by Emily as a "clusterf*ck"). And I would have purchased everything if I were shopping for a major holiday from the Barn, except that I don't know how much my dad or Mike would enjoy a blouse from Dress Barn if they were to receive a blouse on a major holiday, like, Christmas, or something. Now that I think of it, I bet my dad wouldn't mind a dress, or a skirt...he likes clothes that "breathe".

Speaking of breathing, inhaling through your nose can really hurt if you do it in cold weather...and I'm not saying that it's brutally cold right now, I'm just saying that you need to know your environment, you need to be careful when you inhale sharply, especially if it's cold out. Sure, being careful when you inhale sharply through your nose is always a good idea, as you never know when a bee or a pigeon could be perched under your nose and that could really do some damage if you were to inhale sharply, but you really should be careful if it's cold...and I'm not saying it is...cold...right now...and snowy...I'm not saying that. Also, if you have a minty gum in your mouth and it's effing freezing...again, I'm not saying that it is, I'm just saying that in the event that you happen to be enveloped by some coldness, you should be careful when you're chewing a minty gum if you decide to inhale through your mouth. Maybe arctic temperatures are a time for bubble gum...or fruity gum(oh, stop!)...or a plain gum...is there a plain gum? And I'm in no way implying that arctic temperatures are present in the Chicagoland area right now along w/ a foot of snow less than a week before Christmas, I'm not implying that at all, I'm just saying. I mean, summer is also a good time for bubble gum, and fruity gum...and chewing tobacco. Sure, I prefer gum, but chewing tobacco is fine if you're into that kind of thing, which I'm not, but some people are and I'm not saying it's wrong. I guess what I really think I'm saying is...that...I like gum.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Can you get arrested for boog neglect?

I mean, I suppose if you neglect nose boogs long enough to where they become weapons due to hard sharpness, then you probably could get arrested. But not for boog neglect as much as something to do with illegal weapons. However, I'm not in the law enforcement game, so I have no idea if nose boog weapons are illegal. Wait, what the hell am I going on about? Sorry, that was a nasty tangent...and nastgent, if you will. The point is, I've totally neglected my boog(not nose) for like, 3 weeks. Here my boog(not nose) sits, alone, lonely, covered in it's own filth, starving for food and attention while I'm off gallivanting w/ turkey and having a birthday and other such nonsense(I did not invite my boog to my birthday celly...please don't mention it). I'm very ashamed...

So much has happened since my last boog(not nose) entry. There was the best protest ever, which I will write about in full detail very soon. Then there was TGivs, which I was also pay more attention to in a boog(not nose) to follow. And then my birthday...which leads me to what I wanted to quickly talk about today.

My friend Anne gave me a Digi-pet for my birthday. Many of you have probably already heard me talk about this pet and are probably already sick of it. Too bad...I'm talking some more. So, at first when I opened the hermetically sealed plastic package, I was sceptical. I figured I was too old for a Digi-pet and those types of things were for kids. In fact, it said "Kids Only" on the package but I figured that I'm so immature that whoever it is that goes around enforcing that "Kids Only" rule would figure I was no more than 12 yrs old...and a boy...obsessed w/ farts. Anypopper, I started flipping through the pets to decide which one would be mine. It was a close race between a dinosaur and a crab, but the crab won out mostly because dinosaurs are so unpredictable and hard to control. I named my crab Ike, and started to care for him. First, I went to the "Feed" button to choose some food. There was pizza and milk...and pizza...and that was it. Apparently, Ike was going to be forced to have only pizza and milk, which is my dream diet but if I have too much dairy I get rumble-guts. Then I decided to try and "Train" Ike...he didn't like this idea, he made a weird noise and a frowny face. So, then I tried "Play"...Ike didn't like that either and made the same face. I figured he must be sick, so I tried "Dr." and had the same results. Three minutes into crab-ownership and I was failing! Frantic that Ike was going to die, I gave him more pizza. He smiled and jumped up and down, so I gave him some milk, which he also smiled about. I figured that if these eating habits kept up, I was going to have a 327 pound digital crab on my hands. This worried me, but then I realized that a 327 pound crab was a lock to get on Biggest Loser and then my dream of meeting Jillian, having her beat me up into a svelte yet strong 125 pounds then fall madly in love with me and marry me, would come true. Wait, where was this going? Oh yeah, Ike. So Ike ate some more food, but still showed no interest in other activities so I just kept feeding him. Finally I stopped feeding him when he reached 7 pounds. I let him sit for awhile and then Ike made a noise, unprompted. I looked at the screen...what is this...mashed potatoes? Ice cream? OMG it was poop! Ike had taken a mashed potato-looking poop! I cleaned it up and of course laughed. Fast forward a half hour, another poop. Again, I cleaned and laughed. FF another half hour, another poop. This was getting ridiculous. While jealous of his metabolism, I started thinking that his BM's were gonna keep me up all night. I decided to "Train" him again. This time, he took to it, jumping through a hoop. I figured all work and no play makes Ike a mad-crab, so we "Play"ed with a kite, did some more training, some more playing, you get the picture. At about 1130pm, Ike, all tuckered and "pooped" out, fell asleep all on his own. I shut off his light, and my light and we both slept through the night.

Since that first day, Ike and I have gotten closer than I thought any Digi-pet and human could get. I find myself talking to him, asking if he wants play, scolding him if he doesn't read, asking him if his tummy hurts when he's not eating, and saying "Did you make stinky, Ike?" every time he poops. I'm so nervous about what I'll do when Ike digi-dies, cuz I mean, what's the average life-span of a digital crab? It can't be that long, but I already know I want Ike to live forever. I can tell you for sure that when he does digi-die, I won't have another Ike, like I did w/ the 9 consecutive Petey the Goldfish I won at various fun fairs when I was a kid. Ike, unlike Petey, is irreplaceable...

I have to talk about Proposition 8

I hate to get all serious on you guys, I know it freaks people out when I'm serious, so I'll be as brief as possible, but I have to talk about this. The same day we showed amazing progress as a nation by electing Barack Obama as our next president, we took a huge step back with the passing of Proposition 8 in California. Proposition 8 is something very close to my heart as a gay woman in this country who is unable to legally marry the person she loves. When I saw that 52% of Cali voters said "Yes" to Prop 8, I was gobsmacked. How could this happen, and in California of all places? It felt like just yesterday gay marriages were legalized...and kind of it was just yesterday, since it was this past May. I hear all the religious talk about the Bible and it being wrong in the Bible...well the Bible isn't the law, and not everyone believes in the Bible, or God for that matter. That's what religious freedom is all about in this country, they don't have to if they don't want to. Plus, if the Bible was the law, some of you would be getting creamed for suckin on that crab leg you've got in your mouth right now, so aren't we all pretty glad it's not? This isn't a religious matter, it is a matter of civil rights, of human rights. I am a citizen of this country, I pay taxes in this country, yet I am not given the same rights as my fellow straight man because God, yes God, decided I was strong enough to be gay in this country. And it takes alot of strength, it is not an easy road to walk, which is why I don't understand anyone who thinks this is a choice to be made. I would hope that as human beings, those people could strip away their religion for a second and see the utter disgrace that is discrimination and the hate that it fuels. I know that's wishful thinking, and I can't do much more than support my fellow gays, support the cause, and support those who support us. I will keep living my life out and in the open, with the hope that will help people see this is a "normal" way of life. I will keep calling The Joyous One my "wife", because that's what she is to me and to the people who know us. I will keep fighting for rights that I shouldn't have to fight for. Love knows no color, loves knows no gender, love is love is love is love.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. If you're near one of the 80 cities hosting a protest this Saturday Nov 15th, please consider joining in my fight. It would mean more than you'll ever know.

Meta
http://jointheimpact.com/

Having cake and wanting to eat it? Absurd...

I don't think I understand the saying "have your cake and eat it too". I mean, I understand it because I understand English, I guess I don't understand why wanting to eat a cake that you have is a bad thing. That saying is usually tossed around as a bad thing. Like, "Yeah the bastard won't say we're exclusive, he just wants to have his cake and eat it too." Well, duh, who has a cake, and doesn't want to eat it? Isn't that why you bought the cake, to eat it? Isn't the ultimate goal of a newborn cake to be eaten? I would be so depressed if I was a cake and no one wanted to eat me. Plus, people don't buy a cake and get in trouble for eating it. Unless of course, they are forbidden from cake eating by their doctor, or religion, or spouse, or the law(I bet some small towns have a cake law, like the law about no dancing in the movie "Footloose"). But could you imagine if that was illegal? You'd have to eat your cake in secret because having a cake is fine, but you cannot have a cake if you intend to eat it. The police bust into your house on a cake-raid, cuffing you, and forcing you outside wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underpants, frosting smeared all over your face, crumbs adorning your t-shirt, your neighbors come out and say things like, "Gosh, she seemed so normal" and "It's always the quiet ones", all because you were eating the cake you had. I'm thinking that wordage needs to be changed, because to me, there is nothing wrong with having a cake and wanting to eat it.

Fingerish, ish-ish...

If it weren't for my fingers, I wouldn't know anything. Why? Well I'll tell you why. Let's say someone approaches me on the street and says "Angelina Jolie is walking up on your left." If it weren't for my left index finger and thumb forming an "L", I would not know my left from right, and therefore would not know which direction to turn in order to greet Ms. Jolie. I would hastily turn to my right, since that's my power side, and I would miss the chance to impress Angie(I'm sure upon meeting me that is what she would ask me to call her) with a witty statement and an adorable smile. And yes, I always make the "L" when confronted w/ something being to my left or my right because you never can be too sure.

Now let's say you're at a gala, a fancy gala, although aren't all galas fancy? Maybe not like, a gala celebrating Comb Day, but maybe that would be fancy too. I think once you throw "gala" into the blender it's gotta be a fancy event. Okay, so, you're at a fancy gala...no, a regular gala because I've just established that all galas are fancy and the term "fancy gala" is redundant. You're at a regular gala and you're sitting with several dignitaries...don't ask me how you got the invitation, maybe you won it in a poker game. So, the dignitaries are not yet impressed with you because you're drinking Coors Light from the bottle and you told a blonde joke right when you sat down in an attempt to break the ice, not realizing that all of the dignitaries at your table were blonde, galas are usually pretty dark, so that could happen. And then saying that you "thought y'all were albinos or just really old" did not help your cause. In your defense, it was a good joke that had gone over well in the past when you told it. Sure, you told it to a group of douchebags, but whatever. So, you want to try your darndest to impress the offended dignitaries when the bread gets set down right in front of you. One of the dignitaries asks you politely to please pass the bread, but you want bread before you pass it. However, you've got a bread plate on both sides of you. You put your bread on the wrong plate and you can bet your a** those albino dignitaries are gonna rough you up gala-style. You start to sweat, you're throat becomes dry and you frantically search for water. Now you're faced w/ another dilemma as there is a water glass on either side of you. Rather than embarrass yourself by choosing wrong, you throw a piece of bread to the dignitary, excuse yourself and high-tail it outta there. Gala-failure. If only you knew the simple trick I learned from The Joyous One's cousin...all you have to do is make a circle with your forefinger and thumb on both hands. Put your other fingers straight up, and on your left hand you will have made a "b" for "bread" and on your right a "d" for "drink". Sure, you may look a little silly doing that in front of dignitaries, but some dignitaries have been known to find that kind of thing charming. At least the dignitaries I run around with.

Um, so I guess I just wanted to say that we should all thank our fingers because not only do they help with things like writing and eating and typing and snapping, they also help us at fancy galas...sorry, regular galas...and when needing to distinguish left and right. Yay fingers!

November's gonna suck...

October 2008 was like, the most concertdiculous month for me of all time. Seriously, I'm in a concert coma, I've got jam-band gingivitis, arena-anephylactic-shock, I need rock-n-roll rehab...okay, that's getting annoying. But for real tho, my October was straight up rockdiculous**note: if any of you hear me complaining about not having a New Year's resolution, tell me to quit making up words as my resolution, mkay?**
Here's a titty bitty rundown of who I saw, what I thought, and why you're stupid if you didn't come with me:

October 4th -- United Center, Tina Turner...you read me, TINA TURNER. I could go on and on about her gorgeous legs, but that's SO 1996 Hanes Wildest Dreams Tour when Tina and Oprah became Tinprah. Speaking of, she was totally at the show with a pocket-size Tom Cruise and of course the crowd went all apesh*t crazy when they came in. I was hoping that some of them would go really apesh*t crazy and fling poop at them...not that I don't like Oprah, it's just that poop flinging is funny no matter what, so long as it doesn't hit Gayle. Anysnapple, Tina was amazing. I found myself in awe of the fact that, at 70, she looks better than I ever will, sings better than I ever will, dances better than I ever will, and wears heels better than I ever will. I've seen her 4 times now, and she has never been this good...or had hotter dancers. I'd like to shake the hand of whoever it was that decided the dancers should wear nothing more than underwear and short skirts for the whole show. I'm hoping it was Tina, because then I would be able to shake the hand of a true living legend. Highlight of the show: at one point, Tina came over to the corner of the stage, and I sh*t you not, looked right at me and pointed as she sang "Nutbush City Limits". If you get a chance to see her, do not be stupid, drop everything and go. You'll thank me for it.

October 9th -- The Riviera, Tegan & Sara. Like a bad little lesbian, I tried forever to avoid this duo because I didn't want to look like one of those people who only likes a band because one or many of it's members go to homo church. Little did I know that Tegan & Sara were so crazy awesome. It wasn't long before I had all of their albums playing on a continuous iPod loop. I still do, actually. It's nuts, I'm addicted to them like crack...but good crack, not the kind that renders you toothless and butter-mouthed. Luckily, my friend Dan is also an addict, so I always will have a Tegan & Sara pal to go to the show with. Unfort for Dan and I, we also enjoy the booze a little, and this caused our judgement to be clouded when deciding the time we should leave for their Oct 9th show. The Joyous One warned us, but we were determined to miss the opening band, so we kept putting off the departure. That, and a slow cab driver caused us to miss the first 20 minutes, and I felt a little like crying, but then I got to hear so many songs that I loved that I recovered quickly. Their onstage banter had me green w/ envy, wishing I were clever, wishing I had a twin, wishing I could write a song. I often describe their voices as haunting, they stay with you like a ghost...a good ghost...a Casper...or a Small Wonder...wait, she's a robot...and she sucks...scratch the Small Wonder reference.

October 18th -- Heartland Cafe, Cathy Richardson Band...acoustic. If you know me at all, you know that Cathy Richardson Band is one of my favorite bands, and CR one of my favorite singers. I'm mildly obsessed...and by mildly I mean totally. The Heartland Cafe is a neat venue, small, intimate, but it's hotter than Satan's armpit in there, let me tell you. It was the perfect setting for the perfect CRB show, all requests, all the time. I'll have to ask my CRB rookie, Jessica, what she thought, since she was a first-timer. Of course The Joyous One, being the loudest in the room, pretty much ran things in terms of requests. She had good choices, so really I can't complain and CR must've liked them because she played every one. Anne Harris was of course by CR's side, jamming away on her fiddle. I'll tell ya, I didn't know I could be jealous of a fiddle until I became aware of Anne Harris. And while Tegan & Sara have that witty twin thing onstage, they don't have the market cornered on hilariousness. CR can not only sing the pants of you, she'll crack your sh*t up while she's doing it, and there you'll be, pantsless and laughing...and under arrest for indecent exposure.

October 21st -- Heartland Cafe, Jefferson Starship featuring Cathy Richardson. Yeah, so one night of CR was not enough for me, so I was off to the Heartland cafe for another taste, this time with Jefferson Starship. I was thrilled to hear 2 songs from The Weavers, including "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine", which quite possibly is my favorite song...ever. My dad raised me on a steady diet of The Weavers, so this show felt like home to me, except for the fact that I was practically sitting in a potted plant and it constantly felt like someone was fondling my hair, which doesn't happen at home, but whatever. They closed the show with the most awesome thing ever, a song from their new album which is a mix of "Imagine" and "Redemption Song"...I was blown away. My friend Annie declared that that song alone made the trip to Rogers Park totally worth it. I concur, Annie, I concur.

October 24th -- Allstate Arena, New Kids On The Block...yes those New Kids. You know what's more embarrassing than going to a NKOTB show at the age of 31? Enjoying it, that's what. It was my first ever NKOTB show, I wasn't all that into them way back when and because of that, I thought it would be a giggle to go to the show. Me and 4 others(who will remain nameless, but know who they are, Emily, Dawn, Molly, Nikki...woops) hopped in a limo like the cool kids we are and headed to the Allstate Arena. Little did we know, traffic wouldn't be bad and we would get there WELL before showtime, forcing us into Chili's to drink Mai Tai's with the other 30-something-chicks sporting NKOTB regalia and crimped hair. I found myself way more into the show than I thought I would be, almost buying a novelty "Donnie" button...but I refrained, unlike 2 people who will remain nameless, Emily and Nikki...woops. I sang along way more than I wanted to, smiled way more than I wanted to, and did a fair amount of laughing at myself for geeking out so hardcore. The only way to describe the show is horribly awesome. Oh, and for you Tila Tequila fans, last year's finalist Bo was at NKOTB...he and I had a cheers...to dorkhood apparently.

October 26th AND October 27th -- United Center, Ma-f*cking-donna. I really don't have to say much more than "Ma-f*cking-donna", but I will. I'm so spoiled rotten, I got to see Madonna 2 days in a row, and I will say that I'm a better person for it. The first night, we had awesome seats, so close to Madonna at times that I could see the veins in her awesomely muscular arms. I think the only time we sat down was during "You Must Love Me" and that was only because we were tired from dancing...at least I was. She busted out several songs off her new album, tons of old stuff including a punked-out "Borderline", a free-for-all "La Isla Bonita", and the song that brought The Joyous One to her knees...literally..."Like A Prayer". She played for 2 hours, no encore, which pissed me off initially, but then I realized I just watched Madonna and her muscles for 2 hours...what the eff was there to complain about? Actually, I did find 1 thing to complain about the first night...during the request portion, she played "Beautiful Stranger"...does anyone actually like that song? Enough to request it? Night 2 brought seats on the opposite side of where we were sitting the night before, and a little further from the stage so it was like a whole new show! Even though we weren't as close to Madonna, we saw more of her, if that makes sense. Night 2 also brought a far better request..."Dress You Up"...one of my favs. I left loving her more than I did when I got there, and I really didn't think that was possible. The Joyous One was hilarious/brilliant in her assessment of the Madge concerts, "Madonna never disappoints...the Cubs always do". Not sure what one has to do with the other, but hey, that's how The Joyous One sees it...

And so ends my Roctober wrap up(seriously, I need to quit that sh*t). I'd like to thank everyone that attended any of the shows with me, as their attendance was a big part of why it was so much fun... so thanks to The Joyous One, my mom, Monica, Dan, Jay, Annie, Jessica, Mike, Sean, Emily D, Dawn, Molly, and Nikki. Special extra thanks to Emily D, Dawn and Molly...y'all know what you did...

I suppose that is a full-time job...

Gosh, it's been a couple of weeks filled w/ depressing finds for me. Last night, I found out that I make less money than the homeless panhandling crack-addict I saw on Intervention. The Joyous One looked at me immediately and said "Get panhandlin! But don't smoke crack."...done and done...

1, 2 Freddy's comin for you...

Hey y'all, in honor of Halloween knocking at our door, and also in honor of the fact that I just finished a scary book called "The People In The Attic", I thought I would dust off a myspace Halloween boog from 2006. At the bottom I've added some of my scariest movie-watching moments, so please, if you've got any good ones that you want to get off your chest, feel free to scare the crap outta me...and others.

Friday, October 27, 2006
Scary Movies...MWAH-HA-HA
So I'm an idiot because I decided to watch the "100 Scariest Movie Moments" right before bed last night. That sh*t had me skerred y'all, let me tell you. I came to the conclusion that I might be too old for scary movies. Not because they are childish, but because the fear that comes with them is no longer exhilarating like it was when I was younger, now it's just straight fear. I don't laugh anymore after a tumble through a haunted house, I cry. I don't peek through my fingers, screeching w/ girlish glee while watching a scary movie, now I cover my eyes completely throughout or just don't watch it all all. Here's the problem, I have a tendency to watch scary movies and believe that some of those things could happen. Not with all of them, but any that touch on psychotic killers and devil stuff make me think that that type of heebie jeebie crap could possibly happen to me. I could be babysitting on Halloween, minding my business, and get terrorized by a slow-walking maniac wearing a crazy William Shatner mask and who JUST WON'T DIE...that's a possibility. I could go to a summer camp and have it be stalked by a machete-wielding nut job in a hockey mask...that could happen. Me and my family(including my son who has a gift called the shining) could be winter caretakers of a large hotel and it could cause my spouse to hallucinate and imagine sex with a corpse of some sort, then turn into a crazy psycho killer and then freeze to death in a hedge maze...I'm not ruling that out. I could be the daughter of a famous actress and get possessed by the devil, crab-walk down the stairs backwards, pee on the floor in front of my mother's party guests, jam a crucifix into my lady bits, turn my head all the way around, shoot vomit out onto a priest who is performing my exorcism and then finally be cured of my demons only after the priest chucks himself out of a window, plunging to his death...I've seen things like that before. I could be Jennifer Aniston and be chased around by a psychotic, perverted leprechaun...stranger things have happened. Okay, maybe psychotic, perverted leprechauns is stretching it a little...but I could be Jennifer Aniston!

This backtrack to 2006 has made me think of some of my scariest movie moments:

"To Kill A Mockingbird" when Jem is on the Radley's back porch and that shadow is reaching at him. I was only scared because the lights were out and my father decided that would be the perfect time to jump up from behind the couch screaming. Jerk.

"Scream" the first 5 minutes of the movie=poop-inducing and the whole friggin theater was literally screaming.

"Pet Semetary" when Gage is back from the dead and he's under Herman Munster's bed and he slashes at his exposed ankles w/ a scalpel...shudder...

"It"...the entire effing movie. Even though the movie was of the "made for tv" variety, it still makes my skin crawl, creepy predatory sewer clown, children being killed, something so scary it makes a boy's hair turn white, and the mole on the side of Richard Thomas's face...all enough to terrify a 13 year old girl.


And my number one scariest movie moment ever...

"Carrie"- the shower scene where her Aunt Flo visits her for the first time and she starts screaming for help and all the mean high school girls start throwing tampons and pads at her and she crouches down crying...we had JUST learned about the female business, so it was not a good time for me to be seeing that. Plus her Jesus-freak mother scared the love right out of me. If memory serves, I spent the next 2 weeks sleeping in my mom and dad's bed. I have not watched "Carrie" in it's entirety since, something that truly bugs The Joyous One because I won the movie in a costume contest 5 years ago for my Fat Elvis, but I refuse to watch it. Maybe I'll try again this year...

Sniffity sniff sniff...

I realized something this weekend while I was using the ladies room at the Heartland Cafe. I was in the bathroom alone, in the stall, someone came in and as soon as I heard the door open, I sniffed. I sniffed long and I sniffed loud. As I was mid-sniff, I thought back to all my recent public restroom visits and recall sniffing anytime I was in there alone and someone came in. I can only assume this is some sort of defense mechanism to prevent the intruder from attempting to open my stall door, an act that causes immediate panic for me. I worry that if someone gives a good enough yank, the door will fly open and they will see me in all of my bathroom glory, struggling with undergarments, or my belt, or worse yet they'll see me in mid-hover, which leaves nothing to the imagination. That's apparently why I subconsciously created the sniff defense, and so far it has worked. Of course, as a friend of mine pointed out, the people walking in could hear the sniff and think I was snorting drugs off the toilet tank, but I think having people steer clear of my stall cuz they think I'm riding the white pony is preferable to having them bust in on me in an undesireable position...and all bathroom positions are undesireable in my opinon. And if it happens to be the fuzz coming into the bathroom, they hear the sniff, think it's drugs and break into my stall, all they'll see is a panic-stricken Merta, pants at half mast, no sign of drugs anywhere. They won't be able to make those charges stick...I dare you to try, copper! So yeah, apparently I'm a sniffer, if you come into a bathroom and hear a loud sniff, don't be shy, give me a hearty "Hey there" and "Hello", but if you pull on the stall door, I will hunt you down and kick your ass...once I stop hyperventilating.

So sad...

I don't think there's anything sadder than adults with their faces painted at sporting events. I lied, adults getting excited for the YMCA at sporting events...that might be sadder.

I'll comb your back if you comb mine...

So I've been getting a lot of questions about Comb Day and it's origins. It seems that several people don't just jump on board the made-up holiday train willy-nilly, they need some explanations before they give their ticket to the conductor. I'm here to provide those to you folks who aren't comfortable embracing Comb Day just yet. Hopefully, this little tale will change your mind.

Comb Day started 3 years ago on November 9th, and by total accident, as all of the great holidays do. It was cold that night, I know because I remember declaring "I'm cold" while heading out for drinks and hanging out...and more drinks. Meeting me for drinks and hanging out...and more drinks were Mina, Drew, Drew's pal Christyn, Emily and The Joyous One. When Mina arrived, she announced that she had presents for all of us, but she had to wait until The Joyous One arrived before she could hand them out. As Mina had just returned from Ireland, we got excited for the Irish gag gifts we were sure to receive. The anticipation built as we waited for The Joyous One and several times, we begged Mina to please just give us the presents. She stayed strong, and did not waver from her plan to wait. The Joyous One finally got to the bar, and before she could even order a drink, we were clamoring for the gifts that been kept from us. Mina beamed at us with one of her infectious smiles, the rest of us could not help but smile back and wiggle excitedly in our chairs as she counted down...three...two...one...she reached in her bag and pulled out...a 20 pack of combs...what the? As she graced the table with combs she shouted "Combs for everyone!". The rest of us just looked at her, devoid of emotion, until her laughter took over and we all began cracking up and "what the f*ck"ing all over the place. Turns out, Mina needed a specific comb, which by itself cost $3.00 or something, I'm sure she'll correct me if I'm wrong. She spotted the same kind of comb in a pack of 20 that only cost like, $1.00, so the 20 pack was a screaming deal. Mina, in her infinite wisdom, realized this and without hesitation bought the bigger pack of combs. But what to do with the extra combs? Why, grace her friends with the gift of combs, that's what! We decided to turn this odd and unexpected gift exchange into a full-blown celebration, evidenced by the raging hangover we all carried the next day. Poor Christyn, we discovered that her birthday was on Comb Day Eve, and after initially hounding her with questions about being born so close to Comb Day, we pretty much forgot about her birthday, which often happens to people born close to holidays. Comb Day proved to be no different. We celebrated Comb Day with unabashed glee, decorating our hair with combs, trading combs back and forth, breaking combs then realizing that was like killing Santa on Christmas so we cut that out, and shouting "Happy Comb Day!!" to everyone we passed as our boisterous group made our way to another bar. At the next bar, we ran into another group of friends, who we quickly filled in by thrusting combs at them, and hugging them, all the while wishing them...you guessed it...a Happy Comb Day. After their initial shock, they got right on board and Comb Day became a holiday to remember.

The following day, Drew composed a wonderful story which I will share with you know. It's about the true(made up) origins of Comb Day, and this is the story we think about whenever we swear at our combs, or knock them off the dresser, or see one broken in the street:
Comb Day 2006! What are you doing for comb day? What you have never heard of comb day? Well let me give you a little history of comb day. It is an ancient holiday that was celebrated in a small part of the world where peoples' hair grows like the grass. It all started when a women with beautiful long hair got shocked by a lightening bolt and fried her hair. All of her friends felt so bad that this women lost her beautiful hair and was left with a knotted mess. So they all came together and gave her combs. Well this beautiful women was so touched by this out poor of giving, that she vowed that no one, will ever again go with out a comb in their pocket. she decided that one day a year she would fill little kids shoes with combs, and would spread the warmth of combs to the entire world. These were marvelous combs, different colors and shapes and styles. Each of beautiful in their own way. This went of for generations to generations. In the 50's and 60's you could always find a comb in the back pocket of a "Greaser" and never to far away from a "squares" hand either. It is still practiced today in elementary schools during picture day. The photographer would pass out combs to the children before their school picture.
We have all heard of the most popular bar nights of the year, thanksgiving eve, new years eve, christmas, as well as halloween. Comb day is becoming one of the fastest growing bar nights around. People go to the bar for a drink and bring each other combs. As the night goes on, you can tell the most celebrated person by the number of combs in their hair. This person is normally the considered the most holiest person of the group and is sought out for their ability to make a normal night into a absolute drunken mess.
Please pass on this growing tradition to your friends and family. Grab a friend, grab a drink and dont forget your combs! Comb on brothers and Sisters, Comb On!

I hope this answers some of your questions. If it's raised more, I'm hoping you're smart enough to just forget your friggin questions and go with ridiculous flow that is Comb Day.

Random...

So, the other day when I wrote my AirWick boog it got me thinking about commercials and the various ones I like. I swear, you've never seen someone laugh as hard as I laugh every time that Bud Light commercial is on where the dog is screaming "Sausages!". Hahahaha...eh, that's my favorite. You know who has a weird favorite? The Joyous One...she loves any and all commercials that involve The Slowsky's...you know, those turtles that Comcast uses? This surprises me, because if you know The Joyous One at all, you know there is nothing...and I mean nothing slow about her. She talks fast, eats fast, runs fast, walks fast, she even relaxes fast. I would go so far as to say she hates slowness. So why all the mad love for The Slowsky's? My God, first tuna salad...now this, I've reached a new level of boring.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UHKB6nQrzM

Get me a Zoloft...

I got slapped with something very depressing this morning while having coffee with my fathah. We were just chatting along, and I found myself excited to tell him how I made my last tasty batch of tuna salad. That's not the depressing part. The depressing part is that it was the third time since I made it on Wednesday that I told someone about it in an excited manner. I realized this depressing fact as I said it, but that didn't stop me from getting all excited to tell it again when my mom came downstairs. I used to be so much fun, crazy even. Now, here I sit, a shell of my former fun self, getting all geeked to talk about tuna salad and the ins and outs of a good batch. If this is what it means to be almost 32, you can shove it where the tuna don't shine!

What would their kids be...elephedes? Centiphants?

As a regular watcher of TV and reader of trashy magazines, I have seen some odd pairings, Jim Belushi and Courtney Thorne Smith, Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovitt, Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thorton, Detective Sipowitz and that chick that played Eve on Days Of Our Lives. But never have I seen one less believable than the one I've seen recently in the AirWick commercials. I mean, I'm just not buying that relationship. A female elephant married to a centipede...and the elephant is British. What kind of idiots do the folks at AirWick take us for? Elephants don't come from Great Britain! Unless perhaps she's an escapee from a zoo, which is totally possible. But still, I don't think that this seemingly smart elephant would escape from a British zoo and marry the first insect she ran into. It's just not practical. And I know the point of the commercial is to show us that AirWick is powerful enough to cover the stench of one hundred shoes...but come on, AirWick, you're talking about 100 centipede shoes! There ain't no way that 100 centipede shoes smell worse than an elephant's ass. I've been to the zoo, I've ridden on an elephant, I know their scent. Even if I had 100 centipedes jammed in my nose and they all had stinky shoes it wouldn't smell as bas as an elephant. Hell, even if they all farted at once while wearing their stinky shoes, it wouldn't smell as bad as an elephant. Do centipedes even have butts with which to fart? Yeah, I have no idea. And the thought of 100 centipedes in my nose has just freaked me the eff out. But that's not the point, the point is that if AirWick wants us to buy their product, then they should have the centipede telling us how AirWick is powerful enough to cover the assy stink of their elephant spouse. An air freshener that can cover that smell is an air freshener I can really get behind.

The cough that killed me...

Every now and again, I take what I learned in journal writing(basically, you know, how to write in a journal) and I chronicle important events in my life. Here's an excerpt taken from my journal that I wrote the last couple of weeks. Enjoy!

Journal Entry #1:
I've been noticing a little tickle in my throat today. It's not too bad, probably nothing to worry about. Maybe I should double up on my Vitamin C intake...which basically means I should actually intake some Vitamin C. That will surely nip it in the bud.

Journal Entry #2:
It's 2 days before Amber's wedding, the tickle is nowhere to be found. I nailed that throat ticklin little effer...sayanora, sweetheart! PS...my rack looks great in the bridesmaid's dress.

Journal Entry #3:
Amber's big day...felt a little tickle this morning, maybe I celebrated prematurely. I'm gonna drink lots of fluids(and eat a Choco Taco) before the wedding. Due to the slightness of the throat tickle, I'm really not that worried. I'll be sure to suck on some Ricola's, it's probably just dry because of all the talking I've been doing...and the screaming and celebrating and drinking I did when the Cubs clinched last night, but seriously...not that worried.

Journal Entry #4:
Okay, so the tickle brought his stupid, ugly, big-brother Hacker yesterday...and right in the middle of Amber's wedding! So embarrassed, right when we were having a moment of silence for the loved ones we've lost, and then again during the vows! I could just kill that jackass Hacker! I'm hoping no one but me noticed, but I bet you can hear it on the video. Of course, once the ceremony was over, Hacker was nowhere to be found(probably gorged himself on the delicious buffet, abused the open bar and went home, asshole), and the tickle made itself scarce as well. Oh well, everyone seemed to have fun, and no one said anything about me ruining the wedding, with my coughing, so I guess I'm in the clear. Haven't heard from the tickle or Hacker in hours, but I'm taking some cold precautions, just in case...Emergen-C, Airborne, Ricola, I'm well equipped...

Journal Entry #5:
I spoke too soon. The tickle came for an extended visit last night, along with Hacker, and they were here this morning when I woke up. They actually woke me up. I'm starting to get nervous. They might be stronger than I thought. More of the same today with the cold precautions, but I'm losing my confidence in them.

Journal Entry #7:
It has been days since my last journal entry. I have been unable to write due to the throat shredding coughs that have been racking my body and clouding my vision. They come quickly, right on top of one another, like waves in a typhoon. The coughs have been unproductive, no mucus to speak of, they just rip at my throat and make my eyes water. My chest has weakened, it strains with every choking cough, the muscles are pulling and causing my shoulders to cave in. I look years older than I did just days ago. Sleep has been sparse, I'm up every hour for 10 rounds with Hacker. By the time my eyes begin to close, he pummels me again. I've resorted to sleeping with a medicated Halls tucked into my cheek, and Robitussin next to the bed. I have slathered every inch of my chest, throat and nose with Vick's Vapo Rub, staining my pajamas and sheets. I have been consuming gallons of water a day, still I'm dehydrated, still my throat is dry, and still the coughs are producing nothing but misery. Do not take the tickle and Hacker lightly, they mean business.

Journal Entry #8:
This may be the last journal entry I write in this lifetime. I'm not sure if I'll ever see any of you again, and if I don't, well...we've had a good run. The devil has invaded my chest cavity with his demon spawn. With each cough, he punches at my sternum, hoping to break free and unleash hell on earth. I'm not sure how much longer my ribs and collarbone can withstand the pressure of the internal earthquake he is producing. I've tried to fight it, but the muscles in my entire body have now weakened, my spine is beginning to curl into itself due to my inability to stand straight, and energy is something I no longer possess. My head sits at an awkward angle, as I am too weak to hold it up. I can't remember the last time I uttered words aloud, or walked in a straight line. Sleep deprivation has caused hallucinations, bloodshot eyes, and blinding headaches. The previously unproductive coughs have now begun to produce a mucus the color of Ecto-cooler, but not nearly as sweet. I worry that I will no longer be able to control bodily function when my body gets taken over by a bone-rattling cough, and I will be found face first on the bathroom floor in my own filth. I cannot keep living like this. I fear that exorcism might be the only way to rid my body of this demon, as modern medicine is clearly no match for the ancient evil that invades my chest and threatens to destroy me. If my time has indeed come, then I hope that my journal entries will save some other poor soul from suffering a similar fate. As I write this line, I can feel the demon gathering strength for another attempt at freedom. He's laughing...I'm not sure I can hold him down this time...I'm too weak. He has made his way to my throat...the gurgling has started to creep from my lips...he is unleashing a cough from the bowels of my soul that might have the power to destroy a small village...good bye, my friends...I will miss you...think of me as I was in my youth, and not as this battered, beaten, bronchial mess I've become...

Journal Entry #9:
I write to you from beyond the grave. Well, not really, I'm writing from Milwaukee, and feeling much better. Turns out, it was nothing a little Jim Beam and NyQuil couldn't fix...cures what ails ya!

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet...

I often wonder why disgusting things were given disgusting names. It makes having those disgusting things all the more disgusting, and when you're battling a bout of diarrhea, you really don't need to feel any more disgusting, but you do because when someone asks you "what's wrong, why aren't you coming to the bar?" you have to utter the word "diarrhea" which makes you feel...disgusting. I mean, if diarrhea were called "flower water", would we feel as gross telling people we had it? I think not..."Sorry, old chum, I won't be able to join you at the pub for a pint this fine evening. I'm battling some flower water. Cheerio!"(for some reason, I feel like that sentence would be uttered w/ a British accent. Not sure why) And I know that people have tried to come up with funny/less disgusting words for diarrhea, Green Apple Two Step, the Trots(always enters my mind when I'm riding a horse and it begins to trot, which is not that often but still), Hershey Squirts, Bud Mud...but none of them are pretty phrases. The best of the bunch is Green Apple Two Step, but I'm not sure I know what that even means. I bet it has something to do with what happens if you eat too many green apples. But then, at least in my case, you could also call it "Green Salad Two Step"...or "Leafy Green Lambada"...okay, I've said too much.

Anypickle, there are so many things that, if called by a different name, wouldn't make us feel so oogy. Like if "warts" and "boils" were called "mulberries" and "drum rolls", " toe fungus" was called "lace undergarments", "scabies" was called "caramel", "cellulite" was called "leiderhosen", "bacterial vaginosis" was called "lavender mist"...okay, I've said too much again...I apologize.

I, my friends, am going to start to calling these things by their prettier names. And if you've read this boog, you'll know what I'm talking about. Oh, and a bit of advice, if you hear me utter the phrase "flower water", get out of my way...

What are some disgusting words you wish had a different name? Feel free to weigh in...

Going "post"al...

Listen up, people, I have something I need to get off my chest...and no it's not my bra, scumbags...I effing hate Post-It Notes. That's right, I hate Post-It Notes and I'm not ashamed to admit it! Sure, they come off all innocent and cute with their pinks and blues and yellows. Hell, they even make you think they're helpful, they have a compact shape and a gummy residue that's good for stickin, but that's a bunch of malarkey, if you ask me. Let me break it down for you...

Okay, so the Post-It seems like a good idea at first...you answer the telly in your office, it's for a co-worker who happens to be tied up(not literally unless you work for an S and M mag), you offer voicemail, the person on the phone is suspicious of voicemail(this happens to me every day and will probably soon be the subject of a boog), you offer to take the message manually, you dig up a Post-It pad, scribble down the info, pull the note off the pad and stick it somewhere so that you'll be sure to see it, therefore remembering to tell your tied-up co-worker. And no, smart asses, you don't bring it over to the other person's desk, you are in the middle of something...and yes, checking Facebook is something! Plus, it's their message, they can haul their cookies the 27 steps over to your desk and retrieve it themselves. You might be a message service, but you sure as shit ain't no delivery service...oh snap! Anycheeto, 15 minutes go by(it takes that long to untie someone usually) and your co-worker is no longer tied up...and you no longer remember that you took a message. Your memory is jogged 20 minutes later, when you decide to "post" a boog...you say to your co-worker "Oh crap, I have a message for you...it's from...shit...crap...it's from...shit...no, not really, stop making me laugh I'm trying to find your message! Dammit, it was, oh jeez that lady, with the talking, you know, she says words...and talks...come on, you know who I'm talking about!" and while your bumbling your way through your self-induced office charades, you're frantically searching for the Post-It that you put in a place where you'd be sure to see it. Only by this time, the first layer of gummy has faded enough for it to fall, and in all your desk rustling, the Post-It has affixed itself to bottom of your keyboard somehow, only you don't know it because how the eff would a Post-It get under your keyboard, right? So there you sit, scurrying around your desk like Choco the hamster(R.I.P. buddy!), clawing at papers, inadvertently shredding them into a desk-nest while in search of the rogue Post-It. Your co-worker, no longer amused since this has been going on for a half hour, is now standing over you and she starts naming people it could have been. This only causes more panic, you start opening drawers, flinging files about, you rip through your garbage can as if you accidentally chucked your grillz in there(what, grillz aren't appropriate work-wear? well no one told me!), you stand up, hoping the birds-eye view will help you spot the Post-It, but no...it's nowhere to be found. Your co-worker has now resigned herself to the fact that you may never find it and is hoping the person will call back. Defeated, you sit down, wipe the sweat from your brow, put your shirt back on, take a drink of water, grab a couple Advil with shaky hands, but you drop the Advil...one rolls under your keyboard and...eureka...the Post-It has been spotted! You yelp with glee to your co-worker, waving the Post-It about and in your exuberance, you knock the other Advil to the floor. You push back your chair to get it, it's too far underneath the desk, you have to Army crawl, you come up triumphant with the Advil...but where the f*ck is the Post-It now? Somehow, it's on your back, only you don't know it because who can see their own back? No one, that's who! And you don't know that it's on your back until you leave to go to the bathroom 2 hours later and someone goes "What's on your back? Hey, that looks like a Post-It Note!", but you're not happy about it because by this time your co-worker has already missed the chance to go see a free showing of "The Women" because that's what the call was about and no matter how many times you tell her that you heard that movie sucks she doesn't care, because free is free.

Okay, so that last part about "The Women" didn't really happen, and I might be exaggerating a smidge, but you get the idea. Those friggin Post-Its get stuck in the damndest places, onto papers, the front of my desk, onto my Binaca, in Whitey's butt, and wouldn't you know I almost faceplanted into the printer when one latched onto the bottom of my flip flop. And, no lie, I have had Post-It Notes stuck on almost every part of my body, my hair, my back, my elbows, my leg...hell, if I were ever inclined to sit at work nakey, I would have really had Post-Its stuck on every part of my body...hey oh!

Maybe it's just me who has these troubles with Post-Its...maybe I'm the only one with a stack of Post-Its thick enough to hold a window up...or prop a door open...or be used a booster seat for a wee child in place of a phone book...okay, that's probably stretching it. But if it is just me, then maybe it's time to go back to my old high-school note taking standard...on my hands...in ink or permanent marker...how very professional of me!

Hold me, Heidi...

I don't know about the rest of you, but I woke up pissed this morning after witnessing the terrible decision made by certain judging members of a certain television program of which I am highly in love with, even though I question judging decisions on said television program quite frequently. I normally justify my differing opinion with one simple phrase said out loud to myself, and it comforts me when I feel a designer has been wrongly booted..."Meta, you know shit about fashion, so shut your face hole". This time, that justification ain't chicken-noodle-souping me at all.

The "auf weidersehen-ing" of Terri from last night's Project Runway has got me fit to be tied. There is no way in hell that Suede's "Genie-in-a-bottle-butterfly-in-desperate-need-of-an-iron" pajama suit was better than Terri's "costume-y" design. And how dare Michael "Hi guys" Kors say that Terri has questionable taste? Has Micheal seen Suede? His designs? Heard him speak in the 3rd person? Talk about questionable taste, Sue-dud has none. And don't even get me started on Kenley's hein-as-hell-who-knows-what. Based on that piece alone, she should have been the one giving Heidi a kiss on each cheek as she tried to thank them for the opportunity without losing her shit in a sobfest.

And the worst part about all of this? The fact that my obsessive over-thinking about PR spilled into my dream, causing me to be hanging out with Michael Kors and a bunch of models(not cute ones though) in a bar at a museum behind a Liberace display...don't ask. You know what that ass said to me in my dream(Michael Kors, not Liberace)? He said that of all the plus-size models, I had the nicest hair because it wasn't crunchy like the other big girls. In the dream I was flattered that Michael Kors wanted to be fondling my non-crunchy hair(not to mention happy that I was a plus-size model who clearly was in some sort of model competition, perhaps a carry over from my other obsession, America's Next Top Model), but when I woke up, I remembered that I was mad at him, and any nice feelings from my dream went the way of the dodo bird.

So wait, what was I talking about? Sorry, I got off on that tangent and now I'll have to find my way back. Okay, let me reverse...beep...beep...beep...plus-size Meta model, Liberace, mad at Michael Kors, hate Suede...here we go, so yeah, I'm pissed about Terri getting Das Boot from Pwoject Wunway. If it wasn't for hottie Heidi Klum, I would stage a protest...which would consist of me sitting, arms crossed, brow furrowed, television tuned to some other channel between 8pm and 9pm on Wednesday night...take that PR!!!!

I'd take that out of there if I was you...

So I have this plastic polar bear on my desk that sh*ts jelly beans when you press his butt...or he sh*ts M&M's if that's what you choose to reload him with once you've eaten all the jelly beans...which I have. He came to me courtesy of my friend Gail, who knows that I'm an immature fool who gets a kick out of poop and things that poop and farts and things that fart etc. No one can tell me I don't play to the highest level of intelligence when it comes to laughter! Anynipple, I was playing with my polar bear(we'll call him Whitey) the other day while on hold with a computer, oddly enough, trying to fix my computer. Initially, I was seeing how fast I could make him poop M&M's, and of course I would giggle every time a blue one came out, cuz who poops blue? Ooh, maybe polar bears do and that's why their swimming water at the zoo is so blue...eh, whatever. So the rapid-fire poop kept me entertained for a wee while. Then I was seeing what other objects Whitey would deuce...paper clips, a penny, a wrapped Ricola...slightly boring because Whitey is kind of stubborn and wouldn't poop them as easily. Maybe they were rough on his bowels, but I doubt it, he's plastic. After that I was just kind of fiddling around, not paying attention to what I was doing, I looked down and there was my index finger...right up Whitey's butt. This caused hilarious laughter by me, because really, what's funnier than having your finger in a polar bear's butt, right? I can tell you what's not funnier...your finger in an actual living breathing polar bear's butt. You would not get away without a few scratches. In fact, if you walked up to Joe Polar Bear and shoved your digit up there, you can bet your finger-in-his-a** that he would eat you and your butt-probing self for dinner. A little advice: if your going to stick your finger in a bear's butt, make sure he's plastic...or Whitey...cuz Whitey likes it.

Come on in! I'm naked, but I don't care if you don't...

This morning, as I stood in my bathroom wearing only a birthday suit(unfort it was my birthday suit and not Heidi Klum's), I was faced with one of my worst fears. I had just hung my towel up behind the door when I heard a key rattling around my front door. There I was, in all of my naked glory, bathroom door wide open, and someone was coming into my house...**GASP**... the cleaning lady! I had been living with a fear of her busting in while I was traipsing around nakey for like 2 months, because for some reason, she was no longer telling us when she was coming or what time. Luckily, I have cat-like reflexes and I scooted quickly into my bedroom before she could see me. I was moving so fast that if she caught a glimpse, she would have just thought it was a speedy albino manatee...okay so those don't exist, but I'm sure that's what I looked like as I sprinted the 4 feet from my bathroom to my bedroom. As I wiggled and jiggled my way into safety, I screamed "Hi Mariya, I'm just getting dressed" to which she replied "Hello, I come early"...yeah, no sh*t, Mariya...you come WAY early...you should count your blessings that you didn't make the mistake of coming even earlier, although that's a mistake you wouldn't make twice.

For those of you who have seen my condo, you're probably wondering why we have a cleaning lady, and after my naked encounter today, I'm wondering myself. But I know I'll get home tonight, smell the Mr. Clean, run my hands along my sparkling counters, eat a gummy bear off my shiny floor, lick the bottom of my uber-spotless tub, and realize that being naked in front of a Russian woman is a small price to pay for a clean condo...

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...

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/

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?"

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**

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?

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.