Poetry Friday Word for tomorrow, with a steady stream of obsession.

My company deals with a lot of supply vendors. We are, I believe, one of the biggest users of paper products in Michigan…or else it just seems that way. These vendors of ours happen to be a very nice lot, and very generous with their holiday gifts.

Too generous.

It’s not yet December, and here we are inundated with tubs and bags and boxes full of candy…”Thanks for your business!”, the labels all scream, while dark chocolate nuggets dance with bridge mix and exotic pretzels and imported-from-Washington-State-apples and meat/cheese trays and the occasional small gold box of baklava, which is devoured (box and all) by the first two people to discover it.

My belly hurts. This morning it was caramels and toffee.

I have no willpower.

I have no will.

Being that I’m now in a sugar-induced semi-comatic state, I am hereby officially and concretely stating the Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow is: CANDY. Mmmm…candy. Please feel free to artfully decorate your blog post tomorrow with the word CANDY, in whatever flavour licks your lolly…story, poem, photo, audio post of you unwrapping that box of Godivas, a statue made of old candy wrappers….

Candy is also a girl’s name.

And the name of a movie I saw at a drive-in when I was very young. It was trippy. It was horribly inappropriate for someone so young. But my aunt and her then-husband wanted to see it, and they were babysitting, so….

I am easily obsessed. It’s been part of my personality for as long as I can remember. It’s one of the reasons I kept smoking, quitting, smoking. (I’ve been clean for 11 years, and now a cig would prolly put me in a state of helpless retching…no thanks.) It’s one of the reasons why, when I first heard an entire Dave Matthews cd, I ran out and bought ALL his cds…within a week’s time. It’s why I bought Alton Brown’s cookbook and read it…study it…and make notes. It’s why I rented three Daniel Craig films the other day. It’s why whenever dark chocolate comes within 500 feet of me, I follow it’s heady aroma, and then devour it. It’s why a song will stay in my head not just for hours, but days…weeks.

Now I ask you…what do YOU obsess about?

Kiss me, on the bus

I chaperoned Boy-child’s field trip this morning to a local museum. I wanted to be able to capture the sights, the sounds, the smells of this outing, and post about it. However, doing that would take too long…even if I videotaped it for you, the trip wouldn’t be the same. But I want to share with you these thoughts:

1) Chaperoning a field trip with young sentient beings is a lot like the sheepdogs in Babe, trying to rustle up the herd. You run around, make noise, and try to keep them from running amok and/or hurting themselves. I had the Jeebus pose for most of the trip, arms out, gently guiding, my head bowed, muttering, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” I also pulled out all my distraction tools to keep the bus ride from becoming a One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest sort of uprising. “So, Arthur, you playing soccer this year? Cat killing? You’re into cat killing now? So…uh…how do you like it?”

2) If you took ass, and soaked that ass in feet, and fed that ass limburger cheese and old rotten garlic, rolled it in cow manure, stewed it a while with old cabbage, and sprinkled it with a smattering of mud and dead animal matter, you would get the stench that swirled around inside our bus. It was bad. I mean. BAD. Most of the girls covered their faces with their jackets just so they could breath. The boys, of course, wanted to roll in it.

3) Whenever you get pre-adolescent boys together, they will take great glee in finding dangerous things. An uproar when one of the boys yelled out, “Hey, Carl, we’re on a HIGHWAY with NO SEATBELTS ON! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” There’s not enough shushing in the world to calm that. Not. Enough.

Recommend a good scotch

1) I can’t get my head around a work day anymore. 5 days...FIVE days...of not having to log in to a computer, five days of not having to be fully dressed, five days of checking the frig for cheesecake and stuffing. Oh, to win the lottery and spend my days half-naked and lounging around the pool, watching Raoul tend to my roses.

2) Thanksgiving was full of food, and I’m feeling like one of those whales that washes ashore and spends a week in the sun, bloating from the decomposition and heat. Yeah, I’m a pretty picture. I need an apple and a glass of water and a high colonic. (But I'll take a good scotch.)

3) I have a new Fantasy Boyfriend in Daniel Craig (Bond…James Bond). If you haven't seen his turn in Layer Cake, well, run yer butt out right now and rent that puppy, 'cause he's a bit of fantastic.

So that makes my Fantasy Boyfriend list:
Colin Firth (actor)
Dave Matthews (musician)
Bradley Whitford (actor)
Mike Doughty (musician)
Floater: Daniel Craig (actor)

Uh...oh…I forgot…Kirk Herbstreit is my ‘standard’ floater during college football season, but…well…I guess I’m cheating on him. And since when do I have more blondes on my list than brunettes?

4) Dear Garrison Keillor…sorry I fell asleep last night while watching “Prairie Home Companion”. I’m sure it wasn’t your movie, as I’m both a big fan of yours and Robert Altman. But…well…I guess it was too late, and my ‘cleaning up the last of the pumpkin pie’ attempt put me in a sugar coma, and it was too damn hot in the house. I do have to say, man, that although my love/lust for Kevin Kline runs mighty deep, he wouldn’t be my first choice to play Guy Noir. You need someone a little grittier. A little naughtier. A little stupider. Capice? Just a thought for next time. Sincerely, Mona.

5) I got all huffy and pissed off at the lawn last night and raked up 10 huge paper lawn bags full of leaves and detritus. My shoulders and arms feel like I had great sex on a trapeze, and then I got hit by a truck. But still…nice.

6) Yesterday I gave my daughter raw baby carrots with her lunch, and as we were eating, she turned to me and said, “Look!” She’d bitten a circle around the carrot, about half an inch down from one end, such that the thing looked like a mini penis. I had one of those mom-moments where you try not to laugh or freakout. (A Penis! Har! Shit!) I managed to squeak out, “Nice, honey,” before leaning back to exhale out a combination of fright and impressiveness. I couldn’t watch as she ate the thing. Could. Not. Watch.

7) Last night at bedtime, my son asked, “What’s a meshuga?” In my graciousness, I sputtered something like, “Wha…what…what? Where…where did you hear that word?” “In Lion King 1 1/2 , Timon’s mom says it to him.” Oooohh…well, I explained that it meant someone silly, someone foolish, and tried to follow that up with an explanation on what Yiddish is. Then I went on to explain what a mensch is, and bupkis, and I realized I need a Yiddish dictionary, because some words just sound better Yiddish. Oy.

The Thankful List

I’m checking out for a few days, to bask in the glory of tryptophan snoozing and pumpkin-pecan overindulgence.

I haven’t written a ‘Thankful’ list in years. I dunno, some raw character flaw, I guess, whereby I’m apparently an ungrateful bitch who whines too much and doesn’t take time to appreciate the flowers or the small bunnies inevitably living there. (Mmm…small bunnies is good eatin’….)

Well, off my ass and high-ho to thankfulness!

Have a good and safe weekend, everyone! Please make sure to wear the stretchy pants, and if you drink, don’t drive…just fall asleep on the couch like a normal person…make sure you put the garbage can near your head.


Mona’s Thankful List, 2006

1) I’m thankful my children are healthy. (Except for that ear-thing of Girl-child’s.)

2) I’m thankful my children are happy. (Except for when their mean Mom says ‘No’, and then hoo-boy, I’m thankful they have their own rooms to send them to.)

3) I’m thankful my husband and I are done with our various surgeries. (For now.)

4) I’m thankful for my husband. (And even more thankful for that ‘position’ we discovered, which is now my favorite.)

5) I’m thankful for my house. (The basement floods, the roof is growing mold, the bathtub drain stinks like Evil lives there, and the inner walls are ribboned with Bad 1930’s Carpentry Ideas. But still…MY house.)

6) I’m thankful for my job. (It would be better if I could telecommute one or two days a week, I mean, come ON, I could get just as much done and stay in pjs all day and not have to deal with Marketing bugging me for stupid shit. But yeah, I love my job.)

7) I’m thankful for my extended family. (Some of them belong in the mental ward, a few belong in jail, and still others should exercise that ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself’ bible thing they keep spouting…but still…they’d give me the shirt off their backs…and their shoes…and prolly their stanky underwear, if I needed it.)

8) I’m thankful for cable television. (I couldn’t get through a day without it. Could. Not.)

9) I’m thankful for folks who give…without asking for money or recognition…and folks who recognize that we’re not all alike, and that their needs and wants are different from yours and mine, and that to get along in this world, we have to recognize that and not be so damn selfish and close-minded.

10) I’m thankful for you all…yes, you blog readers and posters…for letting me feel connected somehow to something other than the machinations of my own brain. I tip my glass of Beaujolais Nouveau to you and goose you under the table. (And goose you again, for good measure.)

Spilling Guttage

1) So I don’t post, or post lamely, for days on end, and then POOF! (Or BANG!, or WHAM!) I have a million things to say. WTF, I ask myself.

2) The boss brings in bagels every Monday, and I just cut open a sesame seed one with a very sharp knife, and seeds went POW!, all over my papers, in my coffee, and jeebus-knows-where else. I am a dangerous weapon today, and very delicious.

3) This Thursday and Friday I’ll be stuffing my face like a silly cow, and so probably won’t post, unless I roll my stuffing-and-sweet-potato-filled mass to the computer. So Poetry Friday will be a DIY affair…Choose Your Own Word!

4) I’m also taking Wednesday off, but to do that, I’m working 11 hours today and 9 hours tomorrow. Yea, verily, that sucketh mightily, but at least there’s free coffee and seeded breakfast foods to keep me going. So a post on Wednesday is iffy.

5) Lil’ Miss Crafty here made jewelry over the weekend to send to the mothers-in-law, who both have birthdays in the next few weeks. After I made some rather fetching glass candy earrings, Girl-child said wistfully to me, “I wish YOU had pierced ears, Mama.” I felt my face scrunch up. “But I DO have pierced ears!”, I told her. She, of course, didn’t believe me, as one of the things I gave up doing after birthin’ babies (besides pole dancing and long-haul truckin’) was wearing earrings. So I did a sort of “Harrumphhh” thing, and made myself some earrings, dammit, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wondering if I’d end up re-piercing myself into a bloody heap, as it’s been years since I wore anything in my ear lobes. Luckily, I develop scar-tissue easily, and the posts slid in my lobes like, well, like some sort of high-production-value porn thing. (Ooh, Mona, metaphorically, that was sad.) It was beautiful. Later that night as we sat on the couch, Girl-child looked over at me and said, “You don’t look like my mama anymore!” “Do I look like a movie star?”, I asked (because of course I was baiting the poor child), and she replied, “YES, you do!” So now I guess I should revamp my Christmas list to include “Movie Star Earrings”.

6) I had one of those WOW flashbacks this morning, and nearly had to pull my car to the side of the road to contemplate life, or something. When I was a kid, and we’d go a-visiting until bedtime, or have some school or sports or churchy thing at night, we’d travel home on country roads and the farmhouses along the way all had mercury lights at the side door of the house, and over the door of the barn. There’s nothing that glows quite like ‘em. I remember riding in my dad’s car and staring at each mercury light until it faded in the distance, and then I’d scan the horizon for the next one. They kind of scared me, actually, ‘cause I knew the farmers could catch bad guys if they came in the light. (Was that even what they were for? I don’t even know.) On my way to work this morning, I passed a farmhouse that had their mercury light on, and due to the time of year, or the way the light stood starkly against the dark sky, or maybe that I just need more sleep, I was thrown back in time to the back seat of my dad’s car, coming home from Grandma’s house, full and tired and excited that Christmas was coming. Now I have that Santa feeling in my guttiwuts. Fighting with the sesame seed bagel.

Poetry Friday: The Word is PAIN

Feel free to use PAIN in your blog post today. Painfully. I have such a pain in my arse. Oy, this donut gives me such a pain. Y’know how it goes.


I have not much time to write just now, but what Pain brings to mind is that chart in the doctor’s office, always when the kids are sick or hurt, that the doctor points to and asks, “Which face shows the pain you’re feeling?” And the range goes from smiley face all the way down to excruciating pain face. Smiley is zero…Excrucio is ten. I think we’d all be better off as a human race if we could just shout out the pain we’re feeling…”Three!”…”Nine!”…”Four and a half!”.

Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow, and then I combust, or is that self-destruct?

1) I ache. Terribly. Maybe it was the terrific and terribly large company lunch we consumed on Tuesday, and which my body has yet to dispose of. Perhaps it’s the Crimson Permanent Assurance, whose job it is to make me miserable several days of each month. Or maybe it’s just that I looked at my To-Do list for the upcoming holiday season and had a small panic attack. Whatever it is, I’m miserable, pain in every crevice and muscle group. I’m entertaining thoughts of going home sick, which I never do. NEVER. With that in mind, the Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow is “PAIN”. Feel free to use that in your blog post tomorrow (Friday). I’m gonna take some Tylenol.

2) I’m back. From taking meds, that is. I have been contemplating going on hiatus from blogging for a while, because my posting has been spotty as of late. I chalk it up to my work load, both at my office and at home. The thing is, I can’t imagine NOT blogging. Funny, huh. When I miss a day or two of posts, I feel guilty, and not even in the sexy “ooh, I get to go to confession and spill my guts about the terrible things I did” kind of guilt. Wait, maybe I have that wrong…do Catholics feel guilt? (I know stereotypically it’s my Jewish friends, but that’s such a tired cliché. I have to say, the confessional is the greatest thing ever invented for the sake of organized religion. It’s like a sin-bath…poof!...the sin is gone!) Blahblahblah, I’m still here. I just have to live with the fact that some days, Blogger will just have to miss me.

3) Daniel Craig is looking sexier and sexier to me every day. Apparently in the new James Bond movie, he emerges from the ocean with a skin-tight wet bathing suit on. What a little tease.

4) Yesterday as I was driving home, I saw a woman riding her bike across the street, and she looked exactly (EGG-ZAC-LEE) like the witch in “The Wizard Of Oz”, same posture, same face, same manic way of pedaling. All she needed was a long skirt and a picnic basket tied to the back of her bike.

5) We watched “The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes” the other day, and one of the actors was the guy who did the voice of Fred on ‘Scooby Doo’. I looked him up on imdb this morning. He has over 500 credits…how can that EVEN BE?? I don’t know the man, and he could be the world’s biggest asshole for all I know, but I still feel the urge to hug him.

6) I feel it’s really pathetic of me to recognize teen actors from Disney Channel shows, and link them to other Disney Channel shows (and High School Musical), like some sort of adolescent “6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon” thing.

7) I need to cut out 24 cardboard shields for Boy-child’s classroom, as they’re going to be studying castles and knights soon. I hope Homeland Security doesn’t look at my grocery list, because top of the list is ‘box cutter’. I can’t cut cardboard with scissors, so if you’re Homie Security guys, back off.

Rock the Casbah

1) A co-worker had a Major Birthday this weekend and her grown children bought her the most amazing cake, layers full of raspberry jam and sweet cake, fluffy frosting, and fondant ribbons (plaid fondant ribbons to match the napkins, no less). She brought in the leftovers today. I wish I could say my dieting tolerance for sweets made sure I stayed far, far away. I stayed as far away as my fork could reach.

2) What does the Easter Bunny do the other 364 days of the year? Oh, I hope you can handle it. (Ganked from AfterSchoolSnack.)

3) WD40 now comes in pen form. Know how as you get older, the little things become important, like the bunion on your foot, or the neighborhood kids cutting across your lawn, or how ridiculous belly shirts look on 45 year old women? Well, my kicks come, apparently, from greasy pens.

4) I’m making my own Holiday Cards this year. I am clearly insane.

5) I am also making jewelry for presents. Like I said…insane.

6) I’ve become one of those women who starts planning for Christmas in September. I hate myself. But it feels really really nice.

7) A local restaurant opened a second branch that’s 2 blocks from my house. While Sergei was out of town last weekend, I took the kids there. Now they can’t stop bugging me to go back. Well, who am I to argue with lemon bars that kick ass?

8) The Food Network doesn’t have enough special shows about Thanksgiving. I’m serious. It’s like watching Amazing Race 10, or Studio 60, I want moremoreMORE dammit.

9) My Amazing Race 10 prediction…the model/ex-junkie boys will win it. And then celebrate by getting shit-faced stoned and laid by a gaggle (flock? pod?) of coke-encrusted sorority girls looking for a good time.

10) I was just walking down the hall to pee, when I bloated. BOOM. Bloated. Like those folks in the antacid commercial with fat-suit bellies that inflate and then deflate when they take Tums (or whatever). Only I recognized the bloating for what it really was...the Crimson Permanent Assurance is setting sail. Sure enough, I got into the stall and the captain whistled a hearty 'hail and farewell', and then the unexplained craving for fondant-laden cake became all too clear. Ahoy, mateys!

Poetry Friday: The Word is TOLERANT

The very last thing I should be doing now is blogging, what with stacks of work piled up and folks getting pissed at the bottleneck they’ve created for me.
But.
Fuck it.
I’m blogging.

The Poetry Friday Word for Today is “TOLERANT”.

Feel free to use the word in whatever form hangs your chad…story, poem, photo of you being tolerant (e.g., in your undies outside in 30 degree weather), phone message spam, foreign policy. I have two entries today, one female, one male. One sexy, one not. One light, one heavy-handed.

Have a good weekend, y’all!



The Woman Who Shot From Her Hip

Touch me.
Here.
I’m not asking you.
I’m
TELLING
You.

You’ve been a bad boy.

I am not tolerant
Of your behaviour.
You must now
Be punished.

Take off your clothes.
Take off my coat.

You like?

You see how the garter wraps
a-
round
my waist
and how the straps
fasten
to the stockings?
You must undo them.
Now.

I said.
Now.

Bad.
Bad.
Boy.

You will do as I say.

The bra.
Unhook it.
Slower.
Slow-
Er!
Yes. Like that.
You may kiss them now.

Now.

Come here.
Kneel.
Open your mouth.

You must be punished.
It is not up to me.
It is up to you.

Bad.
Bad.
Boy.



The Man Who Shot With His Mouth

He was not tolerant
Of anyone who disagreed
With his credo
with his creed.

Days and nights shuttling through
Boardrooms
Airports
Passing underneath CNN televisions
He’d sputter aloud
To shadows,
Curse the mild and mannered,
Like some sort of weakness to eliminate,
Like cutting off a limb.

He once was kicked out of the Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport Starbucks
For asking a woman
If he could see
What was under her burka.
He once was spit on
By a man
Holding his crying daughter close.
He once was punched dead in the face
By his grandma.

“Freedom of Speech!”, he yelled,
standing on chairs
shouting for foreigners to
getthehellout
shouting for “homos
to
cut the shit”
thumping his chest
like his bible
pointing at passages
preaching damnation.

In Cleveland
It was snowing,
The post-Thanksgiving throngs passing underneath his window
And Bill O’Reilly flickered blue and white light.
The weapon
Finally turned on the owner
When the Red Words of
King James’ Jesus
Rolled off the page
And onto his tongue.

“Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.”
“Love thy neighbor as thyself.”
“Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
“Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers,
so shall you do to me.”

PF Word

I’m pissed off at my co-workers at this time.

Today’s post will be short. As I'm seething.

Tomorrow’s Poetry Friday word is ‘tolerant’.

Be there or be square.

And now, the yard signs can come down

1) Election coverage. Well. I couldn’t post yesterday…I couldn’t read anything yesterday…because this election brou-ha-ha had me freaked. The. Hell. Out. All I have to say is, today, I am smiling.

2) Britney Spears files for divorce. Is there anyone in America who didn’t see this coming? Anyone? I guess my question is, who was K-Fed boning on the side, and did Brit catch them in flagrante delicto?

3) I'm a logical girl. On a daily basis I follow patterns of logic and alert the Powers when something doesn't look right. That's my job, and I'm damn good at it. So my expert opinion is that no matter what Faith says, that was no act. She threw her arms up in the air in a victory celebration, and then faced the camera red-faced and screamed, “What?!”, and stormed off-camera. Who…in their right mind…would have a) planned such a thing, as her handlers say she did, b) thought it was funny, c) pulled focus from the winner. No, no…what happened is that Faith believed the hype about her (haven’t you seen her mug plastered on all the magazines at the checkout line?). Yeah, whatever, she’s ‘wholesome’ and ‘sweet’ and ‘faithful’ and talented and all that b*shit. But in truth, she’s just a triple-glossed version of what record company execs know will ‘sell’. If ya get smoke blown up yer ass long enough, you’re bound to believe it, and she did. Faith, give it up. Admit you screwed up, admit your agent told you ‘Of COURSE you’ll win”, admit you acted rudely, and you’ll stop all the bad press. Bad girl. And I don't mean that in a sexy sultry porn way, either.

4) This is the time of year when the schools around here sell tubs of cookie dough for fundraisers. In the last two weeks, I’ve bought 3 tubs. The white chocolate/macadamia nut dough in the frig is calling my name. Please. Help me.

5) The fabulous glamorous Orange is in a movie that came out on DVD yesterday. I'm "this close" to a famous movie star!

Not for the squeamish

When my friends and family and co-workers ask about my recent eye surgery, the ensuing conversation leaves them weak-kneed and pale.

Hmm.

I’m totally with them, y’know. When I knew the surgery was on the calendar, I kept the printout of the Lacrimal System at my desk, and would look at it several times a day so I’d get used to the idea of some doctor guy probing my very delicateness with sharp instruments. At each appointment, I would have to steel myself against the arms of the chair so I wouldn’t pass out. During the pre-op session, the surgical consult woman handed me the tube they’d be using on me…thin and 8 inches long…and the room started spinning, and I had to deep-breathe like Lamaze to keep from throwing up/passing out.

It got better post-op. I could talk about it without retching, and just last night I was looking at my eye and saw the tube…THE VERY TUBE…running down across my tear duct. Freaked me out. But normal.

This morning I saw the ophthalmologist for a second post-op appointment, and he said everything looks great. That portion of the tube is supposed to show, and as I blink, my eyelids move up and down along it. I have new eye drops, and an appointment in two months. And a better sense that yes, even though I can’t wear eye makeup or rub that eye or sneeze thru my nose or blow my honker hard, in 4-6 months it’ll all be over.

Wanna see?

Go here. Scroll halfway down to “The Balloon (Non-Incisional) DCR”. There’s a photo/illustration of what I got. Modern medicine…whoa. Freaky.

Poetry Friday – The Word is TRAIN

I’m off with the kids today, their elementary school’s closed for conferences (oh to be a teacher in Michigan, with endless days off and all summer to play…yes, I know they work hard, but still…$3 prescriptions and 180 work days a year and incredible retirement? Sign me up!).

The Poetry Friday Word for today is TRAIN. Please feel free to use this word in your blog post today, in whatever manner bobs yer apple…poem, story, photo, architectural design, recipe for disaster.

Me, myself, and I have a list today. Time being what it is.

Have a good weekend, y’all!


Cow-Catchers and other Ruminants

1) A train runs directly beside my office. We are bombarded daily by train whistles that drown out phone conversations, important meetings, and the incessant strains of Muzak (the latter a good thing, except during the holidays when Muzak actually rocks, and rocks hard).

2) Further down the line, some college students were hit by a freight train several years ago after a drunken night. The city and university panicked and started gears in motion for an underground roadway or elevated walkway. After a time, folks calmed down and realized, y’know, if you’re drunk, you really shouldn’t think you can outrun a train and lift the clanging flashing crossing gate. That. Is. Bad.

3) Do cow-catchers really catch cows?

4) The dining car is the greatest invention known to man.

5) The Canadian National train line that runs from Michigan through Toronto and into Quebec is the best way to honeymoon.

6) Before I get too old to enjoy it, I want to take one of those glass-topped trains across Canada.

7) “Train in Vain”. The Clash. Is this their most popular song?

8) I trained for one day to work at Taco Bell, after graduating from college. And then I quit. Brown polyester doesn’t become me.

9) Can a penny on the railroad tracks actually derail the train? Or just make for a really cool squished penny?

10) Mule Traaaaaain…yee haw!!!

Poetry Friday Word, and I get Linky Wid' It

I had the very piss scared out of me this morning as I drove to work. There are railroad tracks near my office, and just as my car was 3 car lengths from them, the BELLS and LIGHTS went off and the gate starting shaking to begin it’s inevitable descent, and even though I was over the tracks before I knew it, I still had that freak-out sensation…”What if the gate is LATE and train is going to HIT ME?” My ability to freak out unnecessarily is only surpassed by my ability to…to…well, nothing beats my freak out response.

So, the Poetry Friday Word for tomorrow is TRAIN. And there’s a myriad lumpkin of meanings to that, so whatever meaning strains yer tea…poem, story, photo, computer program to calculate pi, audio blog of you jumping off a train (Jeremiah’s story is classic).

I’m currently addicted to the VH1 program, “100 Greatest Songs of the 80s”. I squeal like a little girl/pig/porn star when it comes on and some band I used to drool over/sing to/have wild sex to comes on. But then I just shake my head sadly, because all those folks are now OLD and chunky (except Cyndi Lauper, who looks fab), and trying to flag their dead careers by going on some ‘80s Flashback’ Concert Tour. I have all this useless trivia in my head that I dump on the reclining lap of my husband, who dutifully watches with me…”That lead singer from The Fixx now designs hats”, and sure enough, the voice-over then drops that little tidbit. Or “I saw Squeeze in concert 4 times, and once with Katrina and the Waves as the opening band.” (Glenn Tilbrook, I still love ya, man.) Or “Ooooh…OOOHHH…YES….Oh Baby!” when Prince prances around in skin-tight pants and no shirt (“I just want your extra time and your…kissssss.”) I’m shameless in my middle-aged nostalgia.

Ganked from After School Snack is this little video gem. A little late for H’ween, but right on time for Old School Tim Curry. His voice makes me...ooohhoohooohoohooo...SHAKE. (Makes me want to take Charles Atlas by the h-h-h-haaaand.) And here’s the thing…I used to have all three of his solo albums. ALBUMS. Didn’t know that? Tim Curry used to record on vinyl, babies, VINYL, and that still haunts me…in a good way. (See bottom..."Read My Lips", "Fearless", "Simplicity"...all on vinyl, and all tragically lost when the basement flooded.)

This ‘adult abstinence’ thing is a hoot. I had some of my best unmarried sex up to age 29, and now the government wants to punish that shit? Here’s my take on it. Women can’t impregnate themselves. They need a penis, or at the very least, donor sperm, to do the task. Impregnation involves the penis/turkey baster (the ‘out-y’) to be inserted into the vagina (the ‘inny’), and the sperm bullets to be released. Bullets. You heard me. A penis is a dangerous weapon…shootin’ them bullets of DNA into the vagina, who’s doing nothing more than waiting patiently, maybe cooking up some eggs, maybe taking a shower. And BANG! The sperm dudes burst in with guns blazing, shooting bullets of spermy goodness in there, and the eggs can’t run anywhere in their basement apartment, and POW! A fertilized egg. We have gun control, people. Don’t we need sperm control? This ‘abstinence only’ thing (they say) is to avoid unwanted pregnancies…well AVOID THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE..keep them sperms in check boys, in the best way the Middle Ages showed us…chastity belts. You heard me. Strap them penises up with chains and iron bars, and dump some alum in yer water system while yer at it, and outlaw Viagra. ‘Cause all that stuff only leads to unwanted pregnancies. It’s time for guys everywhere to shake off the bonds of slackness and invest in some fetching codpiece-and-chain undergarments. Maybe Todd Oldham can design some. Or Isaac Mizrahi for Target. CHASTITY BELTS! The New Male Fashion Trend! To be unlocked on your wedding night and then locked away again until your wife says it's okay to make babies. Plus, that’ll keep all you guys from spanking the monkey too, which as we’re still told, causes blindness and perversion.

(This message printed instead of a photo of me waving my hands, cursing, pulling out documentation, and pointing out how ridiculous it would be if we couldn’t beat off or have pre-marital sex or nail that cute Hooters waitress because she didn't put the second order of Hot Wings on your bill or seduce Raoul the pool boy because he gave you a fabulous backrub. I mean, really.)

Where was I before the diatribe?

Oh yeah, the last thing on my list….

Is this guy an idiot or what? Identity theft of your own employees? How fucked in the head do you have to be to think you can pull this off? I’m sorry, there’s no punishment strong enough for this kind of idiocy. Maybe something with testicles and a car battery and a squid and a hamster.