Will you be my Ex-Lax?

Okay, I'm not too proud to admit that I have absolutely no idea what to write about next. So, in the spirit of creative constipation, I'm asking for suggestions from You, the Internet as a Whole. Topics, questions, lewd sexual emails with photographs, all that jizz. Jazz. That's what I meant.

Whatcha wanna hear about/see here? What are your wildest dreams for Cotillion content? What keeps you awake at night, aside from that pesky rash? Spill it, baby...you know you want to.

Is this some sort of statement about my personal hygiene?

You Are Fish

You have a well formed palate and a daring appetite. If it's served to you, you'll at least try it. People are pretty scared of your exotic ways. But once they get a taste of you, they're addicted!

What Kind of Meat Are You?

First of all, the concept that there is a "What Kind of Meat Are You?" blog quiz out there is a bit disturbing. I'll bet "Easy Meat" is not one of the possible results, which seems to exclude a lot of us in one fell swoop. And when they say "People are pretty scared of your exotic ways" are they really saying, "Don't shun the Massengill, girlfriend"?

I'm a little traumatized by this. Or maybe it's that hook stuck through my cheek...

Yada yada, cha cha cha, state of the Cotillion and all that

Okay, so perhaps my vow to end my vow of silence was premature.

Honestly, I've had a lot happen lately, but most of it is angst-drenched crap that you really don't want to hear. Last time I started spilling my guts on here, I killed the party, so I'm wary of doing that again. Don't worry, I won't be harshing your mellow tonight. Well, no more than usual.

So, yeah...no more girlfriend. Truthfully, I was never completely sure where I stood with her anyway. I'll miss her, but I won't miss the never-ending cascade of mixed signals. In the meantime, Eeyore is spending a lot more time in the suitcase these days.

After a couple of weeks of unseasonably, delightfully balmy weather, Motherfucker Nature has now decided to make it look like January in Michigan out there. As I was shoveling my driveway today, easily exhausted because I'm so out of shape, I thought that perhaps someone should take my picture and title it Invitation to a Heart Attack.

You can tell I'm single now, as my dinner last night consisted of homemade soup heavily laden with lima beans, hard-boiled egg sandwiches (also known as Mickey Mouse sandwiches, but that's another post), and beer. Who cares if it makes me toxic? Only the cats and I will know.

Who else here is watching Project Runway? I love the show, but miss having someone to watch it with me. Tardist and Squirl would probably like to club me over the head for my unwanted updates on the show, although Squirl does a pretty decent Tim Gunn impersonation, just because I always have Bravo on when she gets here for our General Hospital marathons. Anyhow, on PR, I was tore down when Kit Pistol was eliminated last week; I will miss her OC cheekiness and funky designs. And she was mighty cute, too...not that I noticed. This week, though, I was here by myself cheering (and breaking wind; see dinner notes) when Victorya was eliminated. Her outfits always left me cold and she had a tendency toward...hmm, how shall I say this daintily? She tended toward cuntiness. That's the nicest way I can think to put it. Ricky gets on my nerves with his ought-to-be-burned hats and his proclivity for on-camera tears, but his winning outfit this week kicked everyone's collective asses. I don't see Ricky in the final three for this season, but it was nice to see him win once. I think tiny "Fierce!" Christian will be at Bryant Park. Probably Jillian, too. To round out my predictions, I'll place Rami in the finals as well. Sweet P, Ricky, and Chris are just in trouble too much to make it there, in my overblown opinion. I know it's kind of a gutless call when there are only six contestants left, but to be fair, I picked Rami as a finalist after the first episode. So there, fuckers.

I've now caught up with all the episodes of Heroes that are online for season two. More, please.

Sorry I don't have anything of real interest to say, unless you'd like a recap of the movies I saw last weekend. In short:

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was a movie that really got the "I've taken too many drugs and now I'm taking another fistful" feeling right. And how can you really go wrong with Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro sharing the screen? The only thing better would be a sock monkey with nipples.

Beauty Shop: Queen Latifah rocks. Need I say more?

The Godfather: I've seen it lots of times and will see it many times more. Why I don't own a copy of this movie is beyond me. Also, why Michael married Kay is always puzzling to me. Couldn't a man like him have found someone, I don't know, with a personality? Discuss.

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert: I was mildly disappointed; I guess I just expected more belly laughs from a movie populated with unattractive drag queens (well, Guy Pearce was a pretty nice transformation, but Hugo Weaving should never, ever put on lipstick again). It had its moments, to be sure, but I think one viewing was plenty for me.

Alright, I can't pull anything else, useless or not, from my brain at this time. I'm going back to my painting, which doesn't require me to think; I just have to hang on to the brush and twitch my hands in time to the music. Good times!

I hope you enjoyed the silence while it lasted

I'm fully aware that my posts have been haphazard and not especially packed with words for weeks and weeks now. Hell, I'm surprised y'all are still checking in! My muse seems to have left the building, hopefully only on a vacation. I really haven't been able to come up with a single clever thing to say, but I'll tell you what - I kick ass at The Godfather video game.

Not to go into too much detail, but my love life has been a little stranger than usual for a while now, and I reckon I would call myself single again. On the one hand, that's really a drag in a lot of ways, but on the other hand, I've got enough things in my own life that need my attention and haven't fully had it (like the cats who are vying for the next chance to strut across my keyboard while I'm writing). Who knows, maybe I'll do something unprecedented, like clean my house or shovel my driveway (with a new shovel I bought after my old one was stolen, thank you very much).

So I'm going to try to come back here a little more often than I have been. Consider yourselves warned.

Who needs a locksmith?

Lately:

• I finally, after two years of dicking around with it intermittently, beat Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. The final mission is a cocksucker! Breathing a sigh of relief and starting a non-GTA game.
  
  
• Last week, I kicked in a locked door. That's right, bitches, I'm a bad-ass motherfucker.
  
  Oh, alright, so it was a mobile home door; that in no way detracts from the overall butchiness of the deed.
  
  
• When visiting a friend in the psych hospital the other day, as I sat in the waiting room, I was absent mindedly grooving along to the lite pop being pumped in at a tasteful volume through the waiting room speakers. Then it dawned on me that the current tune was Madonna's Crazy For You. Oh, how appropriate! It was everything I could do not to start giggling, which would have been a bad thing in the psych hospital, seeing as I was sitting alone. I think laughing to myself for no apparent reason is probably best avoided while doctors are watching.
  
  
• On that note, I can tell you that if you visit a friend in the psych hospital, and you bring along Play-Doh for her amusement, you will be the most popular person in the rec room.
  
  
• Okay, now that I've started in on the psych hospital, why stop?
  
  On the door that takes visitors into the patient area, you have to be buzzed in by a guard. On the visitor side of the door, there is a sign that reads: High risk of elopement. Now, why didn't they just say something like Watch for patient escapees! or They gonna try to get out here! ?
  When I see High risk of elopement, all I can picture is a montage of patients in wedding gowns and tuxes made from hospital gowns, busting through the door hand in hand, still repeating their vows of "I love penguins!" and "Hot pink tuba!" as they slip past their captors and escape to a life of wedded, highly medicated bliss.
  
  I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic.
  
  
• If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, did it make a sound? I dunno, maybe you should ask those crushed baby squirrels.
  

I'd be afraid it would kill me in my sleep

Scary doll. Discuss amongst yourselves.

I need these made into posters

Even if you don't like comic books, I guarantee you will enjoy the Top 15 Unintentionally Funny Comic Book Panels. If you don't laugh out loud at least once, I would recommend removal of that pesky stick from your ass.

Now I can spend a month writing the wrong year on my checks

Well, uh...happy new year, y'all. Judging from the past two years, I guess I'm just a Christmas hiatus kind of bitch. My Christmas grump plus a raging dose of PMS seemed like a really bad combination to bring here, where I write things the Internet as a Whole can read.

Holiday trivia:

• I played Wii for the first time at my brother Timmy's house, and I kinda rocked the bowling. Rocked it way better than I rock real bowling, which, come to think of it, I haven't done since my dad was alive (he died in 1990...yeah, it's been a while).
  
  
• Also played Rock Band over at Timmy's. The game is delightful; I, on the other hand, really suck when trying to follow the guitar patterns. Just hand me the microphone and we'll be fine.
  
  
• My first kiss of the year, and my first bed partner, was RC. Sounds great until I mention that RC is my brother's grey cat, and that he was my bed partner because Tardist graciously allowed me to sleep in his bed on new year's eve, and RC was already there when I was ready to pass out.
  
  
• Squirl got me an awesome "non present" - a Babylon 5 pin. I will wear it with great geeky pride.

Speaking of pride...