Wednesday, November 07, 2007
So excited I can barely contain myself. Don't even have time to get aggravated about stupid people I've had to deal with today. But that's another story for another time.
Monday, October 29, 2007
So - OMG - less than 36 hours to go and I am so sickly excited I can barely stand it. The only thing that could make it better is if my friend Cary comes. She was always supposed to come, but with her diagnosis, there was some question whether she could. Well -- she is in great spirits this week and feeling better than she has in a couple of weeks, so fingers crossed. We find out tonight. I'm thinking of bringing a print-out of this pic with me though when I visit tonight for the final word - as added incentive. :) Cause, seriously, can you say no to him and that bod?
Thursday, October 25, 2007
We're three weeks away from the fundraiser -- see my last post -- and I just found out my friend has been admitted to the hospital. Don't know why or what for or what the outcome will be yet but I am FREAKING OUT! I will not be able to to take it if this medical expense fundraiser turns into a memorial fundraiser. I'm not ready for that. can't even think about it. FUCK.
Five minutes later -- I'm still freaking, but less so. I now know why she's been admitted and it isn't as bad as my stupid mind imagined. But knowing only helps so much. I'm calmer than I was 5 minutes ago (actually her sister's txt made me giggle a little -- it said "You're freaking? Why are you freaking? Should I be freaking?") but the 'admitted to the hospital' words sort of set my mind adrift when I've been working so hard to stay focused on anything but the possibility of losing my best friend before we're even 40. I wonder if my bosses would be concerned if I run out of here screaming? Or if they'll bitch if I calmly walk out of here and go bury myself under the covers at home for a couple of days? God-dess. I sound like a crazy person. But don't worry - I don't own a gun so there will be no 'stina-goes-postal story to read tomorrow. I do think I may need a mental health day though. Of course, I have way too much shit to do to even think about staying under the covers, but maybe staying in pajamas would be enough?
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Not but ten days ago I dared suggest that I would find the time to write here more often. And, of course, what happens in those ten days? The brother of one of my oldest friend's dies at the age of 40. And then, as if that wasn't enough, my deepest and dearest friend in all the world is diagnosed with Stage IVB cervical cancer at the age of 36. Needless to say blogging here is no longer at the top of my list of things to do. Instead, I have thrown myself headlong into planning a fundraiser to pay for medical expenses for this friend of mine and I have quickly buried myself in a to do list so deep and overbearing that I don't have the time to blog or sleep or think about the fact that my friend, as close as any sister, may not live long enough to celebrate her next birthday. So I plan. I interview bands. I solicit donations (if I have your personal email, you've probably already heard from me but if you haven't - got anything someone else might one that I can raffle?). I design t-shirts. And I stay busy so I don't have to think too long about this fucking shitty situation. And that brings me here -- because what kind of fundraiser would I be if I didn't advertise the event on my own freaking blog. Right? So - in case you find yourself in my neck of the woods in the middle of next month...
Cocktails for Cary
November 17, 2007, 1-6pm
Location: JustJakes, Montclair, NJ
Live music, including Barnacle Bill
Silent auction & raffle/brown bag auction
$20 gets you in the door.
All proceeds will be used to offset my friends medical expenses.
My friend started treatments on Monday. The doctor promised we'd get a "prognosis" (or in regular English - a how much longer she has to live diagnosis) in 5 weeks. Fundraiser is in 4. I'll stop in here when I can with updates and my usual bitching when I come up for air between follow-up phone calls and band interviews, but in all seriousness, if you stumble upon this post and can give or come to the event and win something or happen to be a famous musician and can come play for us, drop a line to firstname.lastname@example.org and lend a hand.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Anyway -- felt the need to post today because a friend of mine finally updated her blog as well. So thanks Cheli for lighting a fire under my ass. Maybe it will burn long enough for me to add something of substance here instead of this useless, and rambling post. :)
Here's to time flying.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
For example, I thought "Love-Spit-Love" was fascinating (it was, thank you Google, a "Live Nude Installation" -- naked bodies and the flag basically -- shown by artist Ronnie Cutrone at the Simon Watson Gallery in New York in 1991...I met Blondie there - it was awesome) .
I have no issue with people who burn the flag in protest. What greater peaceful statement of protest against the government is there? And yet this upside down thing kind of rubs me the wrong way. Not sure why. And maybe after I mull it over some more, the initial shock that it really happened wear off I (I mean seriously, how often do you get a real stories in a "forward this email to everyone you know" email?) .
But it struck me enough to stay up the few extra minutes (even though I'm exhausted - new job couldn't be better but the schedule will take some getting used to) and wonder if other people are dumbfounded as I and type this post. Wait. Dumbfounded? Ok, maybe perplexed? No, more like unsure. Yeah. Unsure.
Anyway - before I go lay down on my amazing new mattress (new job = Tempur-pedic), let me ask just one question. Do you think the ACLU would take the case if anyone gets in any real trouble for this? Should they? (OK, that was two questions. Sorry).
Monday, June 25, 2007
What is "it," you ask? "It" is a fabulous new job with an amazing, left-leaning law firm. Or at least their big name clients are left leaning, like Al Gore and Michael Moore. Not kidding. So siked. And not only that, but I get a major salary bump too -- about a 30% increase over what I'm currently making. Again, totally not kidding. So siked.
So -- Yeah Me!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
And speaking of So You Think You Can Dance, watching last week I was mesmerized by one couple who did a contemporary piece (with amazing choreography by Mia Michaels) to Dancing by Elisa. I couldn't wait to find and download that song after hearing it. A cross between Alanis and Ani with a little something extra, Elisa is my new favorite singer. Plus, I've heard she's Italian, so that makes her even cooler. And while I haven't heard the whole album yet, I did download the whole thing this morning and plan on listening to it on my way to PA tonight.
Which brings me to my other new favorite - my new favorite weekend getaway. In Shohola, PA, just outside of Milford, where hubby & I just bought the cutest cabin. Sure it needs some work, and needs to be winterized (hello, it has zero insulation), but we paid so little for it I almost can't believe it. And it is walking distance to the lake (granted, I am not a lake person - they kind of scheeve me - but there's a beach for sunning and I only need enough water to keep from overheating so I can deal...plus, we're prolly gonna get a boat but that's another story). The plan is to use it for a year while fixing it up and then "flip" it, assuming the market hasn't totally tanked by then. In which case we'll turn it into a rental place - available for weekends or longer. For now, though, I will be spending the next couple of days and the next several weekends cleaning and doing small fix-it jobs while hubby gets started on the bigger projects - like insulating the place from the outside in. Luckily he knows a thing or two about construction so we can save some dough by him doing alot of the work. Of course we'll still need to hire an engineer or architect, but whatever. It's still my new favorite.
Monday, June 04, 2007
About a hour later my ride arrives (late), we hit the road and an hour after that drive into Asbury just in time for the first drops of rain to fall in the much cooler temperature -- it was above 80 leaving my house but was only 67 in Asbury. Yippee. Looks like the beach is not an option, at least not until the sun comes out, so off we go to the Pride Festival. Son (possibly bi) & girlfriend (definitely not), who both have more piercings than I do (and I have quite a few), split off from us as soon as we approached the festival grounds. Goddess forbid they should be seen with us loser grown-ups.
Anyway -- we hit the festival for which people were collecting a "suggested donation" of $10 per person to get in -- I'm sorry but I've never seen a "charge" for a festival before in my life. It kinda pissed me off. But whatever. We paid our "donation" and wandered around. It wasn't a very big event, but there were some cool vendors, and some great festival food (you know the kind, totally unhealthy but tasty as shit). I got a great "Love is Love" shirt (had to buy something -- I was wearing a tank dress and freezing my hoo-hoos off), and Kelli & I met a really nice lesbian couple when we were in line for fries. Apparently, Kelli and I make "such a cute couple." Except that she's totally not my type. If I were to have one that is.
After making our new friends, we found our way to the parade grounds and watched that for a little -- basically we got to see the Latina drag queens and Mr. and Ms. Leather NJ before the rain started in earnest. Since I don't really enjoy catching my death, and was already a tad cold, we decided to split (without seeing Ms. Gibson, unfortunately) and head to another beach nearby where there was actually places you could go inside. It was inside one such place that the bartender asked us about our bright orange paper bracelets (from our "donation") which read "Got Lube?" Again, it would seem Kelli & I were mistaken for a "cute couple." At which point Kelli told me I wasn't her type either -- apparently, given the choice, she'd prefer a girlier girl. ;) And I thought, holy shit, same here.
So...long story short -- I got up early and put on a bikini and a cute sundress to spend the day in the rain. Drinking Corona. And being mistaken for a lesbian. Sweet. Can't wait to see what next weekend brings.
P.S. I did not forget to tell the tale of Jamaica, I just don't have my camera with me and wanted to include pics (although I've yet to decide if the bikini pics will make the cut as requested by D-Bud).
Monday, May 14, 2007
Oh - and you know that Willie Nelson song, "Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys"? Well, he should change that shit to Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be lawyers. Cause at least you get to go outside when you're a cowboy.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
1. I didn't have to go into the office for five whole days. (which is not to say I didn't have to work -- as I mentioned once before, briefly, I had to bring work with me).
2. The pool at the hotel was heated and on the western side of the hotel so it had sun until, well, until there was no more sun. . . unlike most other hotel pools which are on the ocean side and therefore have no sun after about 3:30PM.
3. Our flight to Florida was on time.
4. Our flight home was delayed which meant I didn't have to go to work for the fifth day (see #1).
5. Our friends took us out to dinner one night to a restaurant on the beach. (of course my dinner, broiled mahi & steamed shrimp, was totally over cooked and nasty, and we didn't get a table -- but I'll get to that later)
6. We did not run into this totally crazy bitch we met last time we were there.
7. I got to wear both of my new bikinis (which I bought online and still fit amazingly) and even managed to get a little color -- without burning.
8. The weather was really, really nice. Friday and Saturday were sunny with temps hovering around 82. Sunday and Monday were sunny with temps hovering around 72 - not quite beach weather but still nice. Granted, it rained like a mother fucker on Sunday night and was crappy Sunday morning, but we were in bed for most of it so who gives a shit.
9. We missed the torrential downpour that was occurring back home.
10. I may have found my new summer drink -- a white russian, except using vanilla vodka instead of plain, and low fat milk instead of half & half. Yummy. Prolly would have been even better blended.
11. I got to go four whole days without shoes - OK, there was an occasional flip flop, but I hardly consider them "shoes."
12. Got to spend a bunch of time just hubby & me.
13. We got to see the new massive Destination Daytona -- a sort of amusement park for the Harley riding bunch. Or, better yet, a Harley dealer on speed. There weren't any "rides" (if you weren't buying one to take home that is), but there was shopping and a hotel and a food court, and it was just toooo cool.
14. Did I mention I didn't have to go into the office?
OK. So I suppose that's about it. I'm really really trying to come up with some other good stuff, but I'm not coming up with anything and I don't want to blow a gasket over it. After all -- I've got to head out for Vacay #2 in a mere 5 days!! So -- oh, duh...
15. After Vacay #1, Vacay #2 is going to rock the fuckin' hiz-house!!!
Friday, April 20, 2007
OK. It was very clean (which is not the case in some other Daytona hotels I've seen).
It was reasonably priced. It was in a decent location. And we had an amazing view of the ocean.
It had a great pool, a cool-ass tiki bar and fun bartenders. (Cindy was my favorite. She got all excited to hear our "jersey accents.")
But. And this is a big huge BUT. . . on our first night, in our first room (yes, that's right, I said our FIRST room) the toilet wouldn't stop running (in the middle of the night no less). It flushed fine but just kept filling up and filling up and filling up without any end in sight. So. . . hubby (who luckily is quite handy) checks to see if he can fix it and he finds that some moron tried to half-ass fix it with, get this, a WASHCLOTH. This fucking moron tried to use a fucking washcloth to tie together the broken pieces of the parts inside the tank that, uh...duh...make the toilet work. And then they rented us the room as if the toilet wasn't held together by some cheap ass cotton cloth. Muthafuckas. Hubby was able to get the toilet to stop running by sticking another towel in there, so there was no flood, but the fucker was broke. Unusable. Can't exactly stay in a room with no toilet. Needless to say, I bitched, hard, and they moved us to another room. Of course I insisted that we get to keep our stuff in the first room (since the risk of flooding was over) until the afternoon of the next day. It was about 5:30 AM at this point and I wasn't about to move my shit in the middle of the night OR get up early and do it. Screw that. We grab a couple of basics and our valuables, and off we go to Room #2.
Which they claimed was an upgrade. Hardly. It was the exact same room but with a worse furniture layout. The upgrade, they said, was the full size fridge and stove in it (as if I was about to cook anything on vacay - duh, I barely fucking cook at home). Whatever. It was clean. And the toilet worked. We checked. After being in the room about 10 minutes, however, we learned the AC didn't work. Well, technically it worked - it did pump out cold air after all - but we couldn't have the AC on and sleep at the same time because the fucking thing was so fucking loud I thought my head would explode. So no AC. Great. But it was late (early actually by this point) and sleep could not be held off another minute. So we cranked the AC and froze the room as best we could. Turned the damn thing off and hit the sheets.
The next morning, seriously lacking of sleep, I bitch again. This time to the manager. Galley. (that's his name, really). Galley is very nice. He apologizes. Profusely. He knocks our rate way down for the rest of our stay and gives me the pick of any available room I want. So Galley & I go off checking rooms. Don't want the first floor, I tell him -- view sucks. Don't need a kitchen suite, I tell him. I don't fucking cook. We end up in what appeared to be a very nice room on the top floor with a simply amazing view of the ocean. I'm so tired, and happy to finally have a place, I don't notice that the phone is broken -- ok, like the AC the phone technically works -- there is a dial tone after all -- but all the little buttons, like "Front Desk" and "Wake-Up Call", they're missing. I guess you could dial "0" for the hotel operator, but whatever. I also didn't notice that the patio had no screen on it and there was no way to turn off the patio light so at night the patio was useless -- you couldn't open the door to hear the ocean. You couldn't sit outside. This is Florida. And it may only be April, but the bugs have already come to play down there. (although to be fair, I think this electrical and architectural disaster was the same for the whole hotel). Oh yeah, and I didn't notice that one faucet on the kitchen sink didn't work (not like I needed it, but still).
Whatever. At this point we're fucking exhausted. The day is half-over by the time we've moved all our shit from our first and second rooms and noticed all the problems in our third room so we decide to just say fuck it. At least the room is clean. And the toilet works. And the AC won't keep us up all night. Besides, all we plan to do here is sleep and fuck. The rest of the time we hope to be out and about. We hoped.
But that is a whole other story best left for another time.
For now, if you ever find yourself traveling to Daytona Beach, do not, I repeat, do not stay the The Bermuda House. Granted they've recently come under new management so hopefully things will improve, and the pool bar really is awesome, but unless you are a risk taker, you'd prolly better stay some place else.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Anyway -- I am looking forward to a sweet relaxing long weekend of sun, fun and sleeping in. Despite the fact that some dickhead judge in PA issued a crappy ruling that will have me working over the weekend.
Whatever. I will not let that spoil my plans. Better to work on a laptop on a deck overlooking the ocean than sitting at my desk in my windowless office.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Anyway -- three days to go until my FLA trip. Which, as I should have fucking expected, is going to cost a teensy bit more than planned. Because now, despite our friends insistence to the contrary a mere couple of weeks ago before I bought our NON-REFUNDABLE plane tickets, we were told yesterday that our friends do not actually have a place for us to stay when we visit because they've turned their guest room into, well, not a guest room. OK -- that's not totally true -- we are welcome to stay at their place if one of us wants to sleep on the couch and the other on an air mattress. Oooh. Romantic. Just what I was hoping for. Goddess knows I love our friends but they are so fucking stupid sometimes. If they'd just decided to redecorate I'd have more understanding but they redecorated BEFORE they told us we could stay at their house, knowing the last time we were there we stayed in their GUEST ROOM!!!!!!! Achugh.
But -- like I said -- the plane tickets are non-refundable. And, I've already made a lame excuse for missing work a mere three weeks before vacation. So we're going. We're just staying in a hotel and spending about $500 more than we wanted to. Bastards. Achugh.
Which reminds me -- if you were a manicurist and I told you NOT to cut my nails, that I was trying to grow them out after they had been wrecked by a prior manicurist, would you then file them all the way down as if they had been cut? Would you? I would assume not. Which is why I was so utterly amazed to look down during my pre-Florida mani (and pedi of course) to see my beautiful on-their-way-to-being-long nails filed down to practically nubs. Which is prolly why the salon hung the monstrous Plasma over the manicure tables - to distract us from their idiocy. That'll teach me for watching a movie during a manicure. Achugh.
At least I have not suffered like my friend M. She's on her way to Korea tomorrow and so spent yesterday in the chair getting a cut & color. If she were me, she might ask -- if you were a stylist and I said I want highlights to my existing color, would you dye my hair a lovely shade of hooker bleach blonde (M.'s terminology, not mine)? Would you? I would assume not. But that's exactly what happened to M. As if she wasn't freaked out enough about her trip to begin with (which, to be fair, I can't blame her -- her boss is making her go to Korea for two weeks and yet she doesn't speak the language and will not have a host or guide of any kind. Nice, huh?). My boss may hate me, but at least he's not shipping me off to a country where I don't speak the language. And at least I didn't step out of the chair with hooker hair. But I do have nubs and my wallet is $500 lighter.
Achugh. Or whatever.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
And of course, it's supposed to snow on Easter. Thanks be to the goddess that I've only got 8 1/2 days until I leave for Florida.
Friday, March 30, 2007
My only saving grace is that my friend (whose boyfriend chose this little adventure) knows even less about salsa than I do. She wouldn't even salsa in the kitchen so I was quite surprised she agreed to this outing. Especially since she is not generally one to do anything outside of her comfort zone. And can get a little cranky when she does. This could get ugly.
And of course I have nothing to wear. Last night, M. & S. decidedly agreed that strappy high heels and a swishy skirt are must haves (think Jennifer Aniston in the first salsa scene of Along Came Polly). Problem is I do not have a swishy skirt and the only strappy high heels I have are ridiculously painful -- they're more a wear-for-show-but-remove-before-dancing-shoe than an actual dancing shoe. And while I'll take my shoes off at a friend's wedding, I'm hardly about to go barefoot in a club in the city. That could be dangerous.
So to remedy the less than stellar situation I find myself in (going salsa dancing without appropriate attire when I don't even really know how to salsa), I'm going shopping after work for a swishy skirt and
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
One -- Atavan ain't cheap so by de-stressing earlier than anticipated, I'm saving medicinal costs. Two -- tanning salons ain't cheap and since there was no way I was gonna go to Jamaica without some sort of base color, I'm saving those costs too. Three -- my boss thinks I'm going to interview out of state so he'll think I'm totally sought after and may actually give me the job I've asked for which would be just awesome, and will keep me from actually having to go interview other places. Thus, again, saving on medicinal costs.
Which brings me to the tenuous job situation -- which I've shared with very few folks cause I'd really prefer it not get out, but I figure, what the hell, most of the folks reading this don't know who the fuck I am anyway -- so here it goes...
It has come to the attention of the powers that be in my firm that I fucking hate my fucking job and therefore am nto really willing to work late or weekends or any of that crap. Actually, it came to their attention some time ago (well before I knew they knew) and they told me they knew a couple of months ago (to my complete and utter shock!).
Anyway -- needless to say, they are none to pleased with me and suggested that perhaps I would do better elsewhere. I wasn't exactly fired, more like lightly shoved towards the door. I, of course, will not go without a fight -- not for the job I have, obviously, but for the job I really want. Which is nothing like the job I have and which technically doesn't even exist at my firm, but should. Especially if they really want to compete with "BigLaw" like they say they do. The job is basically running the firm's pro bono (that's "free legal services" in english) program and all the big money maker firms have someone to do this for them. So I've suggested in a seriously formal written proposal that they create this new and fantastic job for me because doing so would be good for their bottom line. And for six weeks now they've contemplated.
Boss #1 says he loves the proposal and thinks I'd be great for the job (because he recognizes I'm totally brilliant and just bored) but he isn't sure the firm needs another "administrator." Boss #1 also said, though, that Boss #2 has the proposal now and is a big fan of having lots of administrators.
Allow me to translate:
Boss #1 is from the school of thought that the lawyers in the firm can do all the administrative bullshit on top of their actual legal jobs (because this supposedly saves the firm money and results in larger checks for the partners).
Boss #2 is from the firm school of thought that lawyers should do legal work and administrators should do administrative work (because this leaves lawyers free to bill more hours thereby increasing income and the size of the checks to the partners).
I'm on Boss #2's side, duh, but he hasn't said anything to me about my proposal yet. And I'm surely not going to force him to rush -- I am content for now to sort of float under the radar, keeping busy enough to not die of boredom (most days) but having enough time to work on my resume and apply elsewhere (just in case). Plus if they're gonna say no, I'd prefer they do that later than sooner because once they do, the pressure will be on to find something else. And that is scary. Because I've been looking. And the market is about as tight as ... well, its prolly better I don't go there. Besides, I'm trying to take like two vacations in the next 6 weeks, so duh -- I'm not exactly in the best position to be changing jobs.
In all seriousness though -- I really do want this new job.
For now, I'm taking the "no news is good news" approach, and, for luck's sake, have taped to the ceiling of my bedroom a sign that has my name followed by the title of the job I want. Someone who saw The Secret told me about this technique, and even though I haven't seen The Secret and so am not in a place to judge its value, I figure it can't hurt. Plus, I have seen What the Bleep Do We Know? and want to believe in the power of positive thought -- so I'm thinking positive. But of course that little bitch Doubt is always hanging out in the back of the room trying to fuck shit up. So, to keep that bitch quiet, I'm going to Florida in April and Jamaica in May. How's that for positive-fucking-thinking?
So the countdown is on...
16 days until we leave for Florida
35 days until we leave for Jamaica
?? days until I start my new and fabulous dream job
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Which brings me to my point. Sort of.
I was researching some other "bookcrossers" before adding them to one of my "bookrings" (definitions can be found on the bookcrossing site if you really care), and I saw that one of them claims to have read almost 19 books so far this year. That's more than one book a week. Even for a really fast reader, that seems like alot -- doncha think? All I could think was, does this girl have a job? a life? an inability to tell the truth? I don't know. I just thought it was weird. But this particular bookcrosser is from the Netherlands, so I thought maybe it's an international thing? So I browsed around a bit at the bookshelves of other US bookcrossers and found someone in NY who claims to have read 17 and someone in California who claims to have read 21! 21 fucking books in 81 days. That's about 1 book every 4 days. And I thought, Are you fucking serious? Who has that kind of time? Even if you didn't have to work, because you were retired or independently wealthy, or had a sugar-daddy, or whatever -- wouldn't there be other things you'd want to do besides reading books? Or is there enough time in the day to read 1 book every 4 days if you don't have to work?
I think I'd really like to know the answer to that last one. Because I know I'd want to do more than just read books if I didn't have to work. But I don't know what time feels like without a job.
I think someone should be my sugar-daddy so I can find the answer. You know, for scientific purposes. Although sugar-daddy may be the wrong word, because I don't want to have to give anything in return. I mean, I'll go to dinner or on vacation (with separate rooms of course), but I won't . . . you know. What I really need is someone to just give me a whole ton of money, no strings attached. Yes. That would be best. Any volunteers?
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
I have been thinking that I would make a proposition to my Republican friends... that if they will stop telling lies about the Democrats, we will stop telling the truth about them. [Adlai E. Stevenson, Jr.; speech during 1952 presidential campaign]
You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake. [Jeannette Rankin (1880-1973), US pacifist & politician]
It is a denial of justice not to stretch out a helping hand to the fallen; that is the common right of humanity . [Seneca (5 BCE - 65 CE), Roman dramtist, philosopher & politician]
Repetition does not transform a lie into a truth. [Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 - 1945); radio address, October 26, 1939]
Friday, March 16, 2007
(I tried like 300 times to embed the video, but Blogger sux ass and kept giving me a bogus error message, so you'll just have to go here to see it)
And now it's like I never even had the coke to begin with. Fuck. I don't think a coke is gonna do it this time. And I was so going to have steak tonight.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Thirteen days ago, I marked my thirtysomethingth birthday. To celebrate, Hubby took me to dinner at this amazing new Latin restaurant in town, where I had the best flan I think I have ever eaten. After we got home from dinner, he gave me my presents and a few other things a girl generally wants on her birthday (or any other day for that matter, but that's a whole other story).
Anyway -- since one night of fun is never enough and to get to my original point -- my girlfriends and I planned a little soiree to continue the celebrating a couple of night later. And since there is nothing like a little eye candy to get a party started . . . about 7 of my friends and I went out to a local club for some drinks, some dancing, and some old fashioned flirting (I may have been married for - like - ever, but I like to look as much as the next girl and I like to dance more than most, and a little harmless flirting never did anything but get me free drinks). We chose this particular club based on past experience - it usually has good music and an even better scene. While I could do without the bimbette bartenders dancing on the bars with their asses hanging out of their excuses for pants, the place is usually filled with a pretty mixed bunch of folks, including some who are obviously older than me (which, let's be honest, is why I like the joint -- who wants to be the old bitch in the club?). And, more importantly, always present have been massive quantities of well groomed, and equally well dressed male hotties who are generally decent dancers and not afraid to buy a girl a drink (and who are generally too young for me, even if I weren't married, but that's besides the point).
So there I was, dressed to impress and looking hot as shit if I do say so myself (I had just dropped another pants size so my ego was at its apex). I pay my cover charge, saunter over to what we like to call "the starter bar" and order a Stoli Vanilla and Diet Coke from the first bartender whose attention I can get, which is never easy cause they are ALL girls, who could give a fuck about what other girls might want to drink, yours truly included, even though it would be worth their while to pay fucking attention because I have a problem with over-tipping. But I digress...
The eight of us climb the 20 or so stairs to the main club area, flickers of expectation dancing in our eyes. Will it be as good as the last time? Better? Surely the birthday gods will shine on me. . .
We enter the main room...
And what to my wondering eyes did appear?
Not a single piece of eye candy in the joint. Not one. You'd have thought ugly and out of shape was the new in thing to be. Hell -- the dude begging money in the parking lot looked better than most of the guys we saw in the horror show that was before our eyes.
But it was relatively early yet so we figured we'd do a birthday shot and keep our fingers crossed for the latecomers. But, two hours and
It was a really depressing and sad state of affairs. And a waste of some really hot jeans. I might as well have been at a gay club. At least there I would have been guaranteed something good to look at. I hope. If the gays clubs ever become a haven for unattractive and out of shape guys, I will know a true crisis is upon us. For now, I can't help but think that either (1) all the hotties are serving in Iraq or Afghanistan (which is a crisis on a whole other level) or (2) all the hotties, who, let's face it, spend just as much time on their appearance as girls do these day, finally said the hell with metrosexuality and took the plunge into full on homosexuality. No? Then maybe you can tell me where have all the hotties gone. I'd love to know.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Turns out I was right, as this story proves. Long-story-short: three NYC high school girls suspended for saying the word vagina during a reading of The Vagina Monologues. If you aren't as amazed as me, you should have your head examined.
And the "we didn't suspend them for saying the word, only for disobeying the order not to say the word" line of bullshit from the school...the fucktards who said that prolly shoulda checked with their lawyer first. Because trying to prohibit the girls from using the word in the first place is even worse than punishing them after the fact. It's called "prior restraints" and even the Supremes on the right have a distaste for that shit.
Seriously -- I understand not saying "cunt," but now you can't even say "vagina?" In New York fucking City -- one of the "bluest" places on the planet? Are you fucking kidding me? Because "children" might hear the word? Really? Should girls be so ashamed of their bodies that they aren't even allowed to mention it in public? Using the "real" (i.e. technical/medical) word for it? How old is old enough, exactly, for a little girl to know that the thing between her legs is called a fucking VAGINA? Please, MR. Principal, and MR. School Board President, do tell, I for one would like to know...and you being men must surely know better than I. Dicks.
One last question - if three boys had used the word "penis" as part of a literary reading, would they have received the same punishment? Would they have been told the word was "inappropriate for children?" I somehow doubt it. You sexist motherfuckers.
Man - I am so fucking pissed about this. Can you tell? I hope those girls' parents sue. I would.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Things My Boyfriend Says -- collection of comments, etc. pretty much exactly what the title says it is. some are pretty funny, if I do say so myself. pure time waster site.
Campaign for Unshaved Snatch (CUSS) and Other Rants - had to see this. especially after my last post. gotta admit I didn't read much but how can you go wrong with snatch in the title?
Ladies, Goddesses and Bitches -- warning: adult themes. actually, fuck adult "themes" ... this is an adult only blog. well written erotica if you like that kind of thing.
God of Biscuits -- no real "topic" just postings by some random guy. But I like what he had to say about Ann the Cunt Coulter and the horror that was The Black Donnellys so I read some more of what he had to say and may visit again.
Pink is the new Blog -- gossip, gossip, gossip.
There were plenty of others, but I've got to meet a friend for post-work ocktails so off I go. Perhaps tomorrow they'll give me something worthwhile to do. Otherwise, I may have to actually bring a book to read.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Get your hands off my husband before I rip your eyes out you fucking cunt.
Get your hands off my husband before I rip your eyes out you fucking bitch.
The feeling and emotion behind the two statements is identical. The purpose? Identical. Yet people can stomach the second statement far better than the first. At least in America. Why? The real reason has nothing to do with the way in which the word is used -- after all, used the right way, any word can be offensive. If it were only about meaning, people would only be offended when the word was used in an offensive manner, but that simply is not the case -- people are offended by it even if no insult is intended, as in "the cunt splice is very strong." Even the word standing alone, CUNT, with no reference as to its meaning or purpose, CUNT, is offensive to many. CUNT. Thus, "the 'c' word."
The real reason the word is so offensive in America (and I am hardly the first to come up with this one) is because despite the supposed sexual revolution of the 60s & 70s, this country is still sexually repressed and overly puritanical. And despite the ongoing feminist movement, which admittedly (and thanks be to the goddess) has made remarkable strides, this country is still hopelessly misogynistic. For example, in several southern states, it's illegal to sell dildos but not Hustler magazine. For all our supposed equality and freedom, we continue to play into centuries of sexist propaganda, despite the fact that we should fucking know better already.
Put another way . . . CUNT is reviled, in a way that bitch is not, because CUNT, goddess forbid, refers to a woman's sexual organs. For centuries, the female genitalia has been seen as dirty and shameful. Until relatively recently in our common history, menstruating women were forced to remove themselves from society. (OK - menstruation isn't neat or pretty but it is fucking natural dammit and lest we forget, absolutely required if the human race is to continue). Women have been blamed for everything from original sin to the downfall of an American president. In this country alone, women have been treated as property, burned at the stake and denied rights which, fucking excuse me, are supposed to be "inalienable." This country's continued derision toward women, and their vaginas, is evident in the repulsion people feel upon even hearing the word CUNT.
What's worse is that, in my experience, more women are repulsed by the word then are men. This smacks of self-hatred and in my opinion, plays right into the hands of those who would prefer that women, and their CUNTS, remain in their "proper place."
But enough cunt-talk for one day. This cunt, for one, has shit to do.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
A student in Northwest Community College’s Licensed Practical Nursing program has sued the college in Delta, Miss., Federal Court, claiming it discriminated against her by kicking her out because she has dyslexia and dysphasia: impaired speech and verbal comprehension.
Now I don't know all the details, or how the girl got into the school in the first place, but it seems to me that someone who has impaired speech and verbal comprehension issues probably should not be a LPN or any kind of nurse for that matter. Call me crazy, but I prefer my nurses be able to communicate and properly read what it is they are supposed to be doing and/or giving to me. And shouldn't my right to safe and proper health treatment trump this girl's supposed right to attend school to become a LPN? Where the fuck is the line if not at the "you gotta be able to read and write and speak properly to provide medical services" line? What's next -- people who use walkers suing because they can't be firemen?
Friday, February 16, 2007
If there weren't enough reasons not to move to Alabama, the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals has just upheld another one. Did you know that it is illegal in Alabama to sell or distribute anything involving "the pursuit of orgasms by artificial means." In other words, people, Alabama has banned the sale of ALL SEX TOYS! And a fucking federal appeals court let them get away with it. Alabama claims the purpose of the ban is to promote public morality, cause goddess knows only people with loose morals would ever want to give themselves a fucking orgasm. Oh wait - I mean only loose women 'cause boys don't need toys like the ladies do (at least not straight boys anyway). Fucking sexist homophobic puritan Alabama bastards. As far as I'm concerned, they can take their public morality and stick it...or would that break the rules? Does public morality shoved up the ass of a state legislator equal a sex toy? Hmmmmm...
Anyway -- so unless the US Supreme Court hears an appeal (and you can bet the ACLU, who handled the main case, will file one) and overturns the decision of the lower court, the poor folks in Alabama will have to do without the Rabbit, and everything else that might make living there more tolerable. OK - technically they can order the toys online (supposedly) and it isn't illegal to own the items, just to sell them, but isn't this a thin line they're walking on? Besides, why shouldn't the women of Alabama be allowed to have "sexerware parties" like the rest of us?
Wanna see what the Appeals Court had to say about it? Click here.
For example, did you know that the “federal excise tax” helps to pay down the massive debt incurred by the Spanish-American War -- yes, the one fought in 1898. This tax was repealed by Congress last summer as it applies to interstate calls, but you are stil screwed when it comes to local calls. Of course the tax is less than $1 (on my last bill anyway) but still, that's my freaking dollar. Dammit. And I want it back.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Turns out, according to the complaint, Ms. Hilton had a moving company rent a storage unit for her. To "avoid garnering attention," the unit was put in the name of the moving company. The set-up allegedly looked like this: Paris would pay the moving company & the moving company would pay the storage company. Ms. Hilton claims
After not receiving rental payments for several months, the storage company, not surprisingly, foreclosed on the unit and sold the Hilton collectibles (including, allegedly, some sensitive personal documents such as medical, legal and financial records and, get this, her "passports") at auction. The buyer at the auction, like any bright entrepreneur, then put everything on a website that you & I can check out for a mere $39.95 one-time fee. OR -- (since Paris doesn't really seem to know what happened) the buyer at the auction sold everything to a third-party who created the website.
Whatever. The gist is Paris Hilton had a storage unit. The storage company didn't get paid and auctioned off all her shit. Someone bought the contents of the storage unit at auction and either set up a website or sold the shit to someone else who set up a website. Now Paris wants her shit back. Oh, and Paris was supposedly "temporarily out of the country" when everything was put into storage, according to the complaint.
The buyer refused Mr. Hilton's offer to re-purchase the items from the auction and now she is suing under several theories, including copyright infringement. Get this -- 6 days ago, Mr. Hilton registered three "literary works" with the US Copyright Office. Today, she is suing for copyright infringement of those works. I'm no expert, but that seems a little fishy to me.
Anyway -- here are just some of my questions about all of this:
1. Assuming this is an invasion of privacy (which I will not concede), why is it "egregious and reprehensible"? It's not as if someone broke into her house and stole her shit while she was sleeping or mugged her at gun point and stole her purse. Was it "egregious and reprehensible" when Whitney's shit got sold earlier this month? Would it be "egregious and reprehensible" if it was my storage unit that got auctioned off?
2. Who the fuck puts highly sensitive personal and financial records in a regular storage unit? Or rather - why the fuck would one of the richest bitches on the planet put her highly sensitive personal and financial records in a regular ole storage unit? Hello...ever heard of a fucking safe deposit box? And why the fuck did she even need a storage unit -- don't Mommy & Daddy have some place she could have put her shit? Hell - my mom lives in a 3 bedroom duplex and I stored my shit there when I spent a summer working in a another city.
3. Why the fuck would a gazillionnaire let some random moving company be in charge of paying her bills and keeping her shit safe? Even assuming that isn't a little crazy, why wouldn't you fucking pay attention to make sure the bills were actually paid? Or at least pay someone to pay attention for you. And, more importantly, if it is the moving company that fucked up, why the fuck isn't she suing them? (at least she isn't suing them in the complaint referenced above).
Friday, January 26, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
The Good Wife Strikes Back by Elizabeth Buchan
The Winter Room by Gary Paulson (one of mom's books)
Eldest by Christopher Paolini (library book)
Rococo by Adriana Trigiani
The Chamber by John Grisham (bookring)
Standing in the Rainbow by Fannie Flagg (bookring)
My Uncle Napolean by Iraj Pezeshkzad
The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
The Shipping News by Annie Proulx (not yet registered)
Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
The Monk Downstairs (not yet regstered)
Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx
The Street Lawyer by John Grisham
Dead Poet's Society by N.H. Kleinbaum
The Boy Next Door by Josie Lloyd & Emlyn Rees
Bogmail by Patrick McGinley
Revolution of Little Girls by Blanch McCrary Boyd
Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver
The Once and Future King by T.H. White
The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
Gypsy Masala by Preethi Nair
Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber by Adele Lang