A wonderfully warped experience in 1977, when I was dragged to this movie by my BFF and fellow warpee, Miss Texas, who would not tell me what the movie was about… I’ve been a Tim Currey groupie ever since, and experienced my first girl-crush on Columbia (Little Nell).
Archive for October, 2007
Well, after taking a gander at my stats today it became painfully obvious that, unless I post something new, people aren’t just going to continue to come over here to reread the same week-old shit over and over again.
That kinda sucks because it means I really have to write something. And I’ve got nothin’. Nothing, zilch, zero.
It’s not for lack of trying, kids. Mama’s been LOOKING for inspiration but it’s hiding. Oh, there’s plenty of negative inspiration I could write about – like teenage boys for instance. Since I QUIT SMOKING (thank you very much), I’ve been back at my usual hike and bike trail with the doggie in the afternoons, and right now the high school cross country boys are doing some of their training there. This means that Coco and I can be walking along, him at the end of the 10′ leash, smelling and pissing on everything, and all of a sudden a pack of teenage boys comes trotting around the bend which means I have to reel the dog in lest he tangle himself up the the boys’ feet and cause a massive cross country pile up. I don’t mind – really – it just kind of fucks up the zen state I was striving for. And they don’t even really move aside much, which is kind of rude if you ask me. Yesterday it wasn’t the cross country boys that pissed me off – it was a pack of 5 regular mooky-type 15 year olds (I’m guessing 15, because 16 year olds boys would normally be in a car, terrorizing me on the streets instead on the hike and bike trail). I’m walking the dog as usual and I see these boys ahead of me, standing around on the trail doing typical teenage boy shit – clowning around, pushing each other, talking to their peeps on the cell phone. I’m gaining on them fast because I’m walking for EXERCISE and they’re just standing there. Normal people (this does not include teenage boys) would move – right? Not them. I had to walk around them which didn’t sit well with me.
What is it about teenage boys that gives them their sense of ownership about everything?
I had a teenage boy so I know this isn’t a figment of my imagination. Teenage boys like to take up space. They get off on the territorial, “this is my fucking space and I’m not moving, so there” attitude. They seem to NEED to do this.
I wonder: Is this how men took over the world? Did they just plop down and refuse to move?
Or am I just pissed because I quit smoking?
I, Observant, having been tagged by Poseidon, will now proceed to list things about Me!Me!Me! in alphabetical order.
The legal “yadda, yadda” as quoted from Muse’s site, via Grace’s site:
“The instructions say that each player starts with some random facts/habits about himself/herself. As you are tagged you need to post the rules and your responses on your own blog. At the end of your post, you need to choose some people to tag, list their names and, of course, leave them a comment, telling they have been tagged and they need to read your blog for more information.”
A: Alpha female. Oh yeah, I’m the dominatrix.
B: Blogger – It’s the hobby that keeps me sane and my wit sharp
C: Coco, my dog
D: Daddy’s girl – that’s me
E: Earth sign. No air or water for me, folks.
F: Fuck. I say it pretty frequently. However, I’ve never said it in front of my mother.
G: Glasses – my constant fashion accessory. Also provides access to the visual world.
H: Hippie – my answer to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
I: Ichthyology – the subject I would least likely study. I do not like fish of any kind, shape or smell. It is my fervent hope that someday all fish will be declared unsafe to eat so I will no longer be subject to the exclamations of “you don’t like FISH? Are you kidding?” I’m not kidding.
J: Julian, my one and only child
K: Ken, of course! The love of my life
L: Licentious. No, really. I am.
M: Music – always on. A continual fascination for me.
N: Nutrition – what I have my degree in. Turns out I should have been a business major.
O: Obituaries – I read them and try to figure out who committed suicide. Hey, you asked! Oh, and Observant, natch.
P: People-watcher (see: Observant).
Q: Quiet – I’m the listener and seem to be surrounded by friends who talk a lot. This is a nice combination for me.
R: Remodeling hell – where I’ll be soon
S: Smart. I’m smart and I’m a damn smart-ass. No matter what the tragic event, I’m always looking for a way to make fun of it. This pisses people off frequently.
T: Tink, my tuxedo cat. He thinks he’s Carey Grant. It’s possible he may be CG reincarnated. There is a distinct British accent in the meow.
U: Underestimated. People look at me and think “what a straight-laced chick.” Ha! If they only knew.
V: Sometimes there’s just not enough Valium
W: My most despised middle initial right now.
X: Are you kidding?
Y: Young at heart. There’s no way I’m this old. No fucking way.
Z: Again, what’s with the freaky letters? Who has a Z quality?
I’m supposed to tag, but I’m a chronic rule breaker. So steal if you feel the spirit move ya!
Maureen at the Nook came up with the idea of doing a rolling post. Each person who has volunteered to participate gets to add 3-4 sentences as their contribution. The participants are:
The curtains were drawn against the chill of an early winters evening. The only sound to be heard was a sigh as she poured over one of her interminable lists, this being for the coming weekends dinner party.
She was concerned how she would keep them apart after the recent unpleasantness.
It was unthinkable she not invite them both, but in doing the right thing by them, had created a problem for herself…..
Drawing a soothing draught of red wine from her glass, she looked up from her list and stared across the room. A distant memory, like the transient flash of ‘his’ handsome smile, spurned her inner turmoil. She had developed feelings for Steven during her initial tenure at the University. Their first encounter seemed almost cliche. A fateful walk across an autumn campus, a stack of books falling upon golden autumn leaves, polite words spoken, lucid eyes meeting hungrily. Butterflies.
What had begun as an innocent friendship between colleagues (for Amy would later be introduced to Steven as a contemporary) later spurned into a brief, but torrid, romantic affair. When the couple resuscitated themselves from their grey moral vortex, they realised that they would make better friends than bed-fellows and had decided to remain in each other’s lives. Now, Amy had the task of playing chancellor and counsellor to her friend, as he struggled for a sense of equilibrium in his failing marriage. Once again, she sensed the butterflies.
Amy sealed both invitations, one for Steven and one for Margo, his estranged wife, and adhered a lovely tiffany art stamp to each. “I hope to God, they aren’t still arguing over custody of the dog or the chimp – helluva a dinner topic that will make.” She put the invitations aside for the post office run she would do in the morning and pondered the menu for the party. “Now what dish would both please Steven and compliment his lovely golden curls by candlelight – of course, curry!”
Amy sat on the couch contemplating the difficult intricacies of the seating arrangement when the phone rang.
“Ms. Neidelson, thank God you’re home. This is Dr. Shotzendach. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“No, doctor. I’m just sitting . . . Is everything okay?”
“Well, I do believe we’ve found the source of your equilibrium problem and I’m glad you’re sitting down. You’re two months pregnant. And here’s the best part: You’re having twins! Congratulations! Ms. Neidelson?”
“Uh . . . I don’t understand doctor . . . I mean, I understand but . . . how do you . . .”
“Your lab results and the CAT scan images told us all we needed to know. Ms. Neidelson? Ms. Neidelson, are you still there?!”
Amy began to laugh hysterically. A bit too hysterically . . .
The phone slipped from her spasming hand and crashed against the glass of wine. Her laughter morphed to sobs as she sat mesmerized by the bits of broken glass and the spread of the crimson stain against the polished hard wood floor. Bitterly she asked herself, how could she have come to this pass. She had been so careful all her life and yet one afternoon of unbridled passion had sent her whole world reeling.
For as long as she could remember, Amy had vowed not to conceive. She had worked her entire life to not only conceal but to expunge the story of her childhood. She had spent her early years raised in a traveling circus but not the romanticized life. Her father was not the Lion Tamer and her mother was not the Beautiful Lady on the Flying Trapeze. No that was only in her dreams. Her father was Wee Willy Winky, The Smallest Man in Northern America, and her mother was Woolly Wanda, The Bearded Woman. Tears ran down Amys’ face as she wondered if this life would be exposed if she was to give birth to two small bearded goat girls.
She berated herself but she knew that it could have been no different. She had not the power or the will to avoid succumbing to the charms of the Parcel Delivery Man. She had been in a high state of anticipation over the delivery of her lavender shower curtains when Dan rang her doorbell. One look at his glittering smile, the first glance at the sunlight shimmering off his baseball cap, and her heart and her loins melted.
But what now? How could she put on a brave face for the dinner party this weekend with her entire life in turmoil.
After wiping away warm tears, Amy smoothed out invisible wrinkles from her dress and stood to look out the window. Her sniffles and tears subsided as mascara had run down her cheeks, staining her fair skin. As she watched from the foyer’s window, she noticed a few children playing in the snowdrifts across the street. This saddened the woman as she knew that she would never have normal looking children that didn’t need a daily shave at the age of four, but at least they’d stay warm during the chilly winter season.
Amy’s thoughts went to the Parcel Delivery Man and his wooly, sweater-like back hair. What a lovely sight, she remembers. It reminded her of her dear, late Mother. A heavy sigh escaped her as she shook her head, cursing herself at the thought of the dinner party, and the details that still needed to be finalized. “Woman, you must pull yourself together, if only for the weekend!”
She pondered the guest list and thought of him, Steven.
As she went to the closest for the broom and dustpan she remembered the first night she spent in Steven’s arms…dinner and dancing till dawn at the officer’s club. He had looked so stunning in his military regalia. At their initial meeting as colleagues he had invited her to attend his official retirement from the Marine Corps to enjoy his teaching position full time. The butterflies increased but the evening had followed with the most intense love making that Amy had ever enjoyed and had since to be repeated. Even the afternoon spent with Dan was no match. If only she would have been as careful with her birth-control methods then.
She swept up the shattered wine glass and reflected on the fact that she had been drinking while her unborn children inhabit her womb. What type of life was she bringing them in to? Were her bearded babies lives to be hampered with an addiction to alcohol like hers had been? The circus life had been hard…sometimes the only thing her father would bring home from the store was alcohol to drown away the lonely life the family lead.
With her dinner list complete, and the turmoil of the evening settling in her mind, Amy retired to bed for the evening. Her dreams were fitful and she tossed and turned violently in her sleep. She awoke the next morning with a vivid recollection of those troubling nocturnal thoughts. “Bearded children, military uniforms and broken glass” she murmured to herself as the first rays of dawn struck her face. “I need a strong cup of coffee,” she grumbled to herself as she rose out of bed and headed for the kitchen. As Amy stood waiting for the coffee to percolate, an agitated knocking sound rattled her awake. Thinking it was a dream, Amy ignored the sound and began pouring herself a strong elixir. “Bang, Bang, Bang!” this time the noise was penetrating, and very real. Amy nearly jumped out of her skin. Who would be calling at this hour?” she grimaced to herself angrily, stomping as she made her way to the front entrance. “I’m coming…” she yelled at the closed door, “please give me a second.” As Amy opened the door, she was surprised to find herself face to face with a furry humanoid face. EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkk!” Amy shrieked and slammed the door suddenly.
“What in the world?” she exclaimed to herself as she pressed her back against the door.
Her thoughts were brought back to last night’s dreams; the beards, the bearded baby faces. Her heart was pounding furiously. Again, another set of three knocks, and the sound of a human voice. Upon recognising the voice, Amy opened the door cautiously. This time, she was greeted by Steven. “Uhm, hello Steven!” blustered Amy as she opened the door, “I’m sorry for my bizarre reaction, but I thought I actually saw a furry child on the front step when I first opened the door, and he/she startled the heck out of me!”
“Actually Amy, I know that it is rather early and the party doesn’t start until 6 pm, but I needed to ask you a favour,” chided Steven. His eyes were sparkling and his wry smile told Amy that he was either having nostalgic thoughts, or he was truly up to something devious.
“Sure Steven, what is it?” Amy queried, noticing the leash in his left hand, then added sardonically, “Don’t tell me you have a freaky bearded baby attached to that leash.”
Steven looked down and from behind his legs the leash slackened as a tiny chimpanzee padded her way to the threshold of her door. The chimpanzee looked up at Amy with deep, dark eyes. She had the cutest face. A bearded baby face. “It seems as though Margo and I are having a custody battle over Lola” lamented Steven, “and Margo is now threatening for sole custody of our dear little chimpanzee girl, so I was wondering if you would be able to help us out?”
With that question, Amy just stood there, scratching her head, as the chimpanzee reached across her furry backside in search of a “smelly preparation”, should her new “stepmom” fail to receive her with open and loving arms….
And here I go folks:
“What do you mean, ‘help you out’, Steven?”
“Well, could Lola stay with you for a few days? You see, the judge decreed that Lola must stay with a neutral third party while he deliberates his decision regarding Lola’s custody. And since you’re a friend to both of us, you seemed like the logical choice.”
While Steven was explaining himself, Amy stood transfixed by the wee little monkey face before her. Such a sweet, hairy little creature! Lola’s facial features so resembled Amy’s dear, departed mother it was uncanny. Why, it was almost like looking into the past.
“Well?” Steven said. “What do you think?”
Amy thrust out her arms to take Lola. “Oh Steven, I’d love to” she said. Then she stopped abruptly, arms in mid-air. “But the dinner party! I have hours and hours of food preparation ahead of me. Who will look after Lola?”
“Oh, I think you’ll find Lola quite helpful in the kitchen” Steven said with a glint in his eye. “Yes, veeeery helpful.” “By the way, are you still preparing Indian food for tonight?”
“Curry” Amy replied, once again holding her arms out to take Lola. She cradled the little primate in her arms, her body swaying back and forth rhythmically.
“Did you hear that, Lola? Curry!” Steven grinned at Lola, who in turn exposed a mouth full of teeth at Steven in typical money-grin fashion and nodded her head up and down rapidly while screeching monkey sounds back at Steven. “Lola gets rather excited about cooking.” Steven explained.
“Okay, I guess it will work out.” Amy said. Oh this monkey reminded her so much of her dear mother!! Right down to the hand clapping and teeth exposure!
“Thanks” said Steven. “You’re a real lifesaver.” He gazed into Amy’s eyes meaningfully, and took a step closer. His blonde curls glinted radiently in the sunlight, momentarily blinding Amy. “I hope I can thank you properly later” he said softly.
“Oh” said Amy, trying to blink the spots out of her eye. “Oh yes, Steven.” She suddenly felt overheated and dizzy, then noticed that Lola had wrapped herself around Amy like a baby possum clinging to its mother.
“Here’s Lola’s diaper bag and some assorted toys. And at two o’clock she likes to listen to her CD of organ-grinder music. Helps her relax for her nap. She’s a great help in the kitchen; just give her things to mix up. She’s a whiz at mixing, aren’t you Lola-Ebola?” Steven chucked Lola under the chin, then turned to go. Amy and Lola waved goodbye to Steven until his car turned the corner.
“OK, my little Lola-Ebola,” Amy crooned, using Steven’s special term of endearment. “Let’s go cook!” Dropping Lola’s bag in the foyer, Amy took Lola by the hand and they walked into the kitchen. As Amy gathered ingredients from the refrigerator and cabinets, she didn’t notice Lola scurry out of the kitchen and back to the foyer, where she began rummaging through her bag. Removing the small packet of tumeric from her bag, Lola slipped it into her diaper and returned to the kitchen, her favorite organ grinder tune playing happily in her head…
And now I’m passing this literary masterpiece off to my main woman, Reg.
It has finally come to pass that, after approximately 6 weeks after deciding to add onto the house, the plans have now been drawn up – and not without much effort and hand-wringing. I really thought that drawing plans for a laundry room, kitchen pantry, and master suite would not be difficult. How hard could it be, anyway? So I filched the Home Designer software from work and loaded it up on my home computer and set to work. The software isn’t hard to learn – there’s about a 3 hour learning curve with it – but I quickly reconfirmed something about myself: I have a girl brain.
The harder I tried to make the entire 24 x 26 space work, the more frustrated I became. Every few days, members of my family would ask “have you got your plans done yet?” and I’d have to answer “not yet.” Since no one in my family currently has anything torn up at their own house, I’ve got this window of opportuninty to get everyone on board my project. And once I have them, I’ve got them for the duration. So the pressure’s been on, because if I don’t move on this soon, someone else will start a project at their own house and I’ll have to be satisfied with their sloppy home renovation assistance seconds. You can see my dilemma.
Since this is my house, I felt the planning needed to be my baby. But Ken, having the superior, ‘able to see it in 3-D brain’, jumped in. And by golly, he did it, folks. We’ve now got us some basic plans. I’ve got a brother with a brand new Bobcat with all the major attachments, and he’s just itching to get out here to demo the back of the house and dig some footers. And since he’s basically retired, he’s also going to be my free general contractor.
This is gonna be sweet.
Phase II – bringing in the subs, finalizing plans, getting financed, getting a permit. Let the madness begin.
These are some of my favorites. Leave us a comment and tell us your favorite lightbulb joke.
Q. How many dadists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Q. How many folk singers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A. Two: One to change the bulb, and one to write a song about how good the old light bulb was.
Q: How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Two, one to hold the giraffe, and the other to fill the bathtub with brightly colored machine tools.
Q: How many Taoists does it take to change a light bulb?
A: You cannot change a light bulb. By its nature it will go out again.
Q: How many nihilists does it take to change a light bulb?
A: There is nothing to change.
Q: How many Bush Administration officials does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb; its conditions are improving every day. Any reports of its lack of incandescence are delusional spin from the liberal media. That light bulb has served honorably, and anything you say undermines the lighting effect. Why do you hate freedom?
Here in the modern, uninhibited world of the West, much ado has been made regarding a certain type of clothing worn by many women in the Middle East – the burqa. Modesty guidelines in Muslim countries are a lot more strict than they are here, and they like their womenfolk covered up real good. Here, on the other hand, we prefer a woman who shows a lot of skin – and if she flashes her nekkid hoochee as she gets out of the limousine, all the better.
While I’m not an advocate of forcing women to wear the najib, I’ve found many good reasons to embrace the beauty of the head-to-toe garment.
Reason #1: Let’s start with the obvious: The water retention problem. You know what I mean – you get up, put on a pair of freshly washed jeans and try to button them – “Damn! Water weight gain!” That’s when you wish you had a pair of dirty, already stretched out jeans to put on. But you don’t because you stupidly washed clothes this weekend. That’s when the burqa would come in handy. Just thinking about that kind of non-binding, clench-free comfort makes me want to go up and put mine on right now!
Reason #2: Bad hair day. You wake up and get ready for work, but your hair has taken on some kind of bizarre life of its own and has assumed a shape that’s unflattering and refuses to change. No problem! Put that burqa on and all your bad-hair problems are instantly solved! Ditto with zits, warts and the heartbreak of psoriasis.
Reason #3: Celebrity cover-up. Let’s say you’re Julia Roberts (OK you’re not, and you’ll never in a million years be mistaken for a movie star, much less Julia Roberts, but bear with me here). Going out in public is a real bitch isn’t it? You’re about had it with all those annoying fans and their incessant gushing about how much they LOVED you in Pretty Woman and you wish they’d just fucking get a life and stop bothering you. You even moved to fucking Arizona or someplace like that just to get away from it all, but they find you just the same. If Julia Roberts had a burqa, all her going-out-in-public problems would be solved. Under a burqa, you could be anybody. For that matter, in a burqa you could pretend to be a movie star and nobody could prove you really aren’t Halle Barry or Chloe Sevigny.
Are you following the beauty of this logic people? It’s fucking brilliant I tell ya.
Reason #4: Underwear is optional. OK, not that it isn’t already optional, but with a burqa you can let it all hang out. And by just lifting it off the ground a few inches, one can allow the cooling and refreshing breezes to journey up the burqa to your special nether regions. Good times.
Last but not least, we come to our most important reason.
Reason #5: The burqa can save your life. Think of the lowly mosquito – a small but potentially deadly insect who lives off the warm blood of animals. Not only do these pesky predators cause itchy welts, they spread diseases – malaria, yellow fever, and the much-dreaded West Nile Virus. Instead of slathering your delicate skin with Deet-filled insect repellents – I give you, what I like to call the Beekeeper Burqa. You know what I mean – the one with the netting over the eyes. And it traditionally comes in a really nice, soothing blue color – perfect for a summer barbecue or a stroll around the park with your beau. The netting insures that no blood sucking mosquito will be able to get to your naturally sweet female blood and infect you with their nasty tropical diseases. You can’t beat protection like that, ladies!
So there you have it – 5 reasons why the burqa may be right for you. I say: Instead of reviling the burqa, we should embrace it for its many uses.
And remember, it’s almost Halloween . The all-white burqua would make a dandy ghost costume!