Jacuzzi you later

Cheeky Monster

If I hadn't already pointed it out enough times this week, Friday is our 16th wedding anniversary, our 16th April Fool's day of unholy mattressmony.

So, as is our custom, Jim and I have secured a jacuzzi room for the night. I will probably have precious few details for y'all here, as I've decided to try exercising good taste and see how that feels. If you do, indeed, want to know all the gory details, what the hell is wrong with you? Email me.

I'll be back tomorrow, so there's no need to wail and tear at your clothing. Unless, of course, you are attractive and there will be pictures. Then it's to be fully encouraged.

No puddy tats here

I tawt I taw a geek!

Oops, I seem to have accidentally bitten off Tweety Bird's head.

Oops.

My little prayer

Oh, blogger gods:

I beseech thee to allow me to post unimpeded;
I tear at my garments and weep when thine database is fucked up;
When I clicketh on the little pencil,
Toy not with my affections;
Trifle not with me, nor with my homies,
With comments that, lo, will not post,
Will not show;
Maketh not my posts disappear
Lest I lose the tiny corner that is left of my mind.
Amen.
Post.

Look at these fabulous blisters

Exhibit B

Gumby, what a little trouper! Even with third-degree burns on most of his green, flexible body, and with his eyes mangled beyond hope, he still manages a smile and a wave for the camera.

Fresh from the burn unit

Exhibit A

Jim and I were cleaning the rooms upstairs this week, and among the other treasures we unearthed we found Burn Victims Gumby and Pokey (and if you don't know how they got that way, read the tale of my bastardly, tchotchke-burnin' husband here).

Both Gumby and Pokey still have difficulty with mobility, hence the fact that they've been in a box in my office for 15 years or so. Being as this is my anniversary week (16 years on Friday), I thought I'd share some of the romance that's kept things magic for my marriage.

Romance, flaming tchotchkes, and strategically worn cotton undergarments will make every day seem like a honeymoon.

Knocked off my soapbox!

I realized last night I couldn't get to the first page of my blog. I am still gasping for air. I feel...cut off! Mommy!

Let's see if publishing a new post fixes this shiznit.

Apologies to Sissy Hankshaw

It dawned on me, several days after I had written my "book tag" post, that I had somehow, in a fit of total soap-opera amnesia, forgotten to include a single thing by my favorite author. What the fuck is wrong with me? But that's a post all in itself.

Tom Robbins. Tom Robbins. Tom Robbins. I have been in love with Tom Robbins since I was about 12 years old, and Squirl gave me a paperback copy of Another Roadside Attraction. While a lot of it sailed right over my head at the time, I was still instantly hooked by the whimsical, irreverent tale being spun before my ever-widening eyes. It made me want to start a band with a name half as cool as Hoodoo Meat Bucket.

Since then, I've read all but two of his delightfully wrong books (I still haven't read Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas or Villa Incognito). I heartily recommend any and all of them to readers who want something that is simultaneously profound and silly, touching and blasphemous, panties-drenching sexy and pants-wetting hilarious.

So, to Sissy Hankshaw and her sugar-sack sized thumbs, to the Woodpecker with his glasses and his sticks of dynamite, to Switters with his stilts and his born-again virgin, to Marx Marvelous who chose his name to piss people off, to Ellen Cherry Charles and the giant roast-turkey Airstream, to all the characters I don't know yet, and mostly, to the importance of keeping one's heart lighter than a feather, I apologize for this glaringly stupid omission, and I promise not to forget y'all again.

She enjoys being a Squirl

I'm taller, but she got the rack. Circa 1978?

Another member of my family has come over to the dark side and turned over the "Open" sign on her own blog! I present, for your dining and dancing pleasure, the Blog of the Squirl. She has promised me she will update more often than our brother, Tardist. coughSlackercough

Fill my tank, baby

If you were to drive through Flint today, locking the car doors against Michael Moore's version of the city, and turn your radio dial to 105.5, you would be greeted by the sounds of CK105: sweet, nonadventurous Top 40. But this wasn't always the case, my child, not the case at all. When first I made Flint my hometown, 105.5 was WWCK, no cute abbreviation, and it was the best way in town to plug into rock music, older classic rock and new stuff by the classic acts.

105 was our station of choice when Jim and I started dating. Our love bloomed at a Bob Seger concert, fer chrissakes, so it was a natural fit. Back in those days, we didn't have a huge household income -- I refer to that time period as our macaroni and cheese days -- and we'd often just drive around with the radio on for entertainment. WWCK used to sponsor gas giveaways, where they'd announce a gas station location, and the first x-number of cars to arrive would receive a free fillup. We got pretty good about guessing which part of town might be the location of the day, and were rewarded with gas, gratis, on quite a few occasions.

We were in the silver T-Bird we used to have when the announcement came one day, and we made our way over to a Shell station in Swartz Creek. There were about ten people ahead of us, but we were still obviously going to get the freebie petrol. As we sat in line, and in the course of our discussion, I leaned over and gave Jim a little kiss. C'mon, we'd just shacked up, the young love was still a constant, itching, burning, swelling presence in our loins, and my frisky little self didn't take much provocation to lay on the smooch machine.

I didn't think anything of it until I saw the older gentleman in the car ahead of us, who was obviously now watching us in his rear-view mirror. It still didn't seem like that big a deal until I casually observed this out loud. Jim got that "Oh yeah?" look on his face, and without any warning to me, he grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face into his lap. I was laughin' my ass off and managed to wriggle free and sit upright, where I saw the guy frantically twisting his mirror to try to get a better look. He saw us laughing, and he knew he'd been busted. Poor bastard stared straight out his windshield the rest of the time we were in line.

The moral of the story is: It's not polite to stare, even if you think some dude is gettin' his sausage gummed in the car behind you.

Mix CD: Harpin' On It

This one's all harmonica-heavy songs. And before you say anything, Mr. Bloggerific, I am well aware that there is no Sonny Boy Williamson, Stevie Wonder, or Lazy Lester on here. So there.

1. Train, Train - Blackfoot
2. I Ain't Got You - Sugar Blue
3. Rock With Me - The Fabulous Thunderbirds
4. Marie Marie - Roomful of Blues
5. It Ain't What You Do - J Geils Band
6. Parchman's Farm - The Bluesbreakers
7. Got Love If You Want It - Slim Harpo
8. You Don't Want Me - Angela Strehli
9. Suicide Blonde - INXS
10. Damn Good Lover - Lou Ann Barton
11. 12 O'Clock Jump - Big Dave and the Ultrasonics
12. Goin' to the City - Sharecroppers of Soul
13. Try (Just a Little Bit Harder) - Cathy Richardson
14. Almost - The Blues Brothers
15. Mellow Down Easy - Madcat and Kane
16. Moo Goo - Paul Black and the Flip Kings
17. Reel Eleven, Take One - Kim Wilson
18. Louisiana Blues - Paul Rodgers
19. Hotel Sickness - The Black Crowes
20. One More Mile to Go - Sugar Blue
    

Self-Portrait Day: In the workplace

What I sed caused an awk-ward silence

I know it's not quite Thursday yet, but fuck it. At least this one is a self portrait. And quite possibly qualifies for bad hair day, too.

Good friends will help you make trouble

Cherie and Alan's wedding. No, I'm not the groom, just the DJ. And a darn bad dancer, at that. Is the look in my eyes positively satanic or what?

Sorry, I know I've been a blog slacker this week. I even weaseled out Monday and had Squirl write the post! I promise more stuff.

I'm just in too good a mood for this time of day. Someone come in here and hit me with a tranquilizer dart.

Squirl tag

Tonight's guest blogger: My sister the Squirl

Thanks, Bucky, for not bruising me when you tagged me.    Here's my list:

1. What book would I like to be?
The Annotated Alice in Wonderland.  Not only is it my favorite book, I could be really insufferable about knowing all the annotated stuff, too.

2. Have I ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Maybe I did have the hots (a bit) for Rhett Butler.  He was a real man.

3. What is the last book I bought?
The last fiction book I bought was The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul by Douglas Adams.
The last nonfiction book was Holistic Healing with Herbs.

4. What is the last book I read?
That would be The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul.  I really like Douglas Adams' sense of humor.

5. What am I currently reading?
Like Bucky, many blogs.  Also Secret Societies by Michael Bradley.

6. What 5 books (HA! Like I could ever get it down to 5)  would I take with me if I were stranded on a desert island?
The Annotated Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Garner's Modern American Usage by Bryan A Garner (cause I'm such a grammar geek)
Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling
The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan
The Celestine Prophecy by James Redford

Now I'm a Tag Hag

Well, I was just mindin' my own business today when Jessica gave me a mugging that she so delicately calls a "tag." You wanna see the bruise?

Anyway, I have been tagged with The Questions, which I am honor-bound to answer and then pass on to three worthy grasshoppers. So fasten your chinstraps, homies.

1. What book would I like to be?

Geek Love. Because I would relish the horrified looks on people's faces as I read myself aloud.

2.Have I ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Well, I wouldn't kick Lestat out of bed for biting below the neck.
And, aaaah, I think I had a pre-teen hot spot for either Ponyboy or Sodapop in "The Outsiders" - I can't remember which one.

3.What is the last book I bought?

Fiction? That's pitiful. I think it was "Lord of the Rings" (all three in one volume) just before the second movie came out.
Nonfiction for fun: "Melody in Songwriting : Tools and Techniques for Writing Hit Songs" by Jack Perricone

4. What is the last book I read?

Fiction: "The Joy Luck Club" (on loan from Squirl)

5.What am I currently reading?

Blogs, fer chrissake, lots and lots of blogs! Tattoo magazines. I'm not really in the middle of a book, unless you count that page turner about Melody in Songwriting. Don't anybody tell me how it ends!

6. What 5 books would I take with me if I was stranded on a Island?

Geek Love by Katherine Dunne
Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes
London Fields by Martin Amis
The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice (hard to pick just one of the early Chronicles for me)
Self-Gratification with Coconuts for Dummies

7. What 3 people am I going to tag and make answer these questions and why?

Ern, because she had a dream about me, which makes her a survivor, and everybody loves a survivor's story.

Susie, because any friend of Gumby's is a friend of mine.

Greatwhitebear, because he always gives ME lists!

Tag, tag, tag.

Further psychoanalysis of bad dog Snickers

Dogs are so transparent.

Couch dance

This cold/flu/whateveritis has been kickin' my ass since Tuesday. Add to that the fact that I stayed up way past my bedtime Friday night havin' way too much fun, and you can imagine how worthless I was this morning when I finally emerged from the bedroom like the patron saint of puffy eyes.

Jim wanted to go furniture shopping, because we need a couch. Our primary seating arrangement for years upon end has been two easy chairs, and we finally decided we miss sitting with each other. Plus, bad dog Snickers will be delighted 100% of the time, because he will be able to sit in one place and touch both of us. The dog has serious abandonment issues, but we'll psychoanalyze him in another post.

I really felt foggy this morning, but I hate to pass up a chance to shop for furniture. That may be the most girlie thing you ever see me write. It's true, though; I love furniture stores (except Art Van, may they rot in ripoff hell), and I love to look at furniture I'd never buy, mostly because it wouldn't fit in my house. And I can't resist the urge to throw myself on the nearest chaise, preferably with lots of strangers watching, fling my arm over my forehead and declare, "I have the vapors!" in my worst southern belle accent. It just never gets old. So I choked down some of that noxious but magical orange antifreeze labeled Dayquil (all I taste is the quils), covered enough of my body to prevent arrest and/or chapping, and went on the road to Couchville.

We were two of maybe six customers when we hit Sofa Mart, so the salesman had plenty of opportunity to hover. We didn't see exactly what we wanted on the showroom floor, so we wandered back into the clearance room to see if we could find a deal. After snaking through the rows and sitting here and there, we came upon a dual-recliner couch in a color we could live with, and proceeded to test the mechanism. We both agreed that it was comfortable and had good reclining action. But when I went to un-recline, my footrest wouldn't stay down. Before I could get up, the salesman had rushed over to help, and I stepped out of the poor boy's way as he pushed, hammered, and pounded on the recalcitrant footrest with increasing frustration and reddening of the face. After repeated, failed attempts to get the footrest to stop popping back up like one of those pesky four-hour erections, he stopped and looked up at me. I smiled sweetly and said "Guess we know why it's in the clearance room."

The selection at Skaff was better, though we still didn't see exactly what we were looking for. I did, however, find my fainting couch and my crowd, so the trip was not a total loss. Some people are so easy. All I had to do was fling myself down dramatically on the chaise, and some folks were already chuckling before the arm had gone over the eyes. I love it when the crowd is easy. If they're already laughin' before you get to the punchline, they are yours for the takin'. Yeah, I amuse myself in public a lot.

Our final stop on this little sofa-go-round, Value City Furniture, yielded no reclining couch for us, and would not be worth noting, save for the sight we beheld in the lot as we walked back to the car. As we approached the Cruiser, I happened to look down, and there, in the parking lot of South Flint Plaza, was a used, squashed tampon - a Tampax Super, if I had to guess. A tampon used, abandoned, and apparently the victim of more than one wrestling match with a car tire. It would have been wrong not to share this, so I got Jim's attention and pointed. He foolishly followed my finger and found himself staring at the strawberry pancake tampon. The look on his face said something like, "Why the FUCK would you go out of your way to make me look at that?"

As I stared, held captive wondering what could possibly be the story behind this, all I could think to say was, "Holy shit, I wish I'd brought my camera."

Report Card, Part Three

You see? It was actually possible to "dawdle" in the olden days, before Dooce's comment section.
I still have little interest in math, unless it's counting the money I will one day win playing Mega Millions.
Okay. The last part about the neatness and the desk? The people I work with who read this are likely pissing their pants with laughter right about now, because nothin's changed. I can create chaos just by putting my nameplate on an office. See, guys? I was born this way!

Report Card, Part Two

The middle part of the report card. I can't believe I had a + in handwriting during the last marking period. My handwriting sucks in a serious way, always has. I'm pretty sure the 5-day absence in the third marking period was when I had chicken pox -- for the first fucking time!

Report Card, Part One

Jim was cleaning upstairs and found my second-grade report card. Miss Briegel was a holy terror bitch who used to pull kids' hair when she was "disciplining" them. Note my parents' signatures; this was still a time when my parents saw every one of my report cards as they were issued. ;)

And yes, I was called "Kitty" then. Don't you dare say a thing (especially one of you who shall remain nameless -- you know who you are!). Yeah, okay. Go ahead and say somethin'.

Dog day afternoon

Bad dog Snickers tiring of the flash.

Happy St. Quacktrick's Day!

My mom put this on the back of the letter she sent me this week. I'm not sure why the duck is in the toilet, or why he's celebrating, but I am glad that my sweet mother is really as twisted as the rest of us.

Mix CD: The Porkchop Mix

There is no theme to this CD, except that it's all songs I like a lot. Having the sound bytes in between the songs was a cute idea, and I like listening to it, but it was a pain in the ass to do, and there are too many tracks if you wanna skip around. But really, it's all so fabulous, why would you?

1. (Clip from Babylon 5 Bloopers)
   Londo: "Porkchops!"
2. Rubber Tip - Funky BJs (this song isn't on any CD that I know of - it's a radio song in Grand Theft Auto 3)
3. (Clip from Animal House)
   Katy: "I think I'm in love with a retard."
   Boon: "Is he bigger than me?"
4. God is a Bullet - Concrete Blonde
5. (Clip from The Simpsons)
   Homer: "Mmmmmmm. Beeeeeeer."
6. Lucifer - Bob Seger System
7. (Clip from Animal House)
   Dean Wormer: "Then as of now, they're on double secret probation!"
8. Buena - Morphine
9. (Clip from The Blues Brothers)
   Elwood: "We're on a mission from God."
10. Mission of Mercy - The Motels
11. (Clip from Babylon 5)
    Sheridan: "You have a face people trust."
    Ivanova: "I'd rather have a face people fear."
    Sheridan: (sighs) "Well...that too, but..."
12. Long Hard Road - Mitch Ryder
13. (Clip from Young Frankenstein)
    Dr. Frankenstein: (singing) "If you're blue and you don't know where to go to why don't you go where fashion sits?"
    Frankenstein's Monster: "PUTTIN' ON THE RIIIIIITZ!"
14. Let it All Hang Out - John Mellencamp
15. (Clip from Kids in the Hall)
    The Head Crusher: "I'm crushing your head!"
16. Footstompin' Music - Grand Funk Railroad
17. (Clip from Monty Python and the Holy Grail)
    Serf: "Help! Help! I'm bein' repressed!"
18. Bringin' it Back - Kansas
19. (Clip from Crusade)
    Gideon: "Can I smack him? Just once?"
    Lochley: (laughing) "No!"
    Gideon: (sighs) "I never get to have any fun."
20. It's Your Thing - Dennis Coffey and Lyman Woodard
21. (Clip from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly)
    Tuco: (reading a note) "See you soon...idi...idi..."
    Blondie: "Idiots...it's for you."
22. Cissy Strut - The Meters
23. (Clip from Airplane)
    McCroskey: "Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up amphetamines."
24. She's a Dancer - The Brothers Groove
25. (Clip from Silence of the Lambs)
    Lecter: "I'm having an old friend for dinner."
26. Love You Madly - Cake
27. (Clip from Babylon 5)
    Londo: "What do you want, you moon-faced assassin of joy?"
28. Buffalo Stance - Neneh Cherry
29. (Clip from Fast Times at Ridgemont High)
    Mr. Hand: "What are you people - on dope?"
30. Stacy's Mom - Fountains of Wayne
31. (Clip from Monty Python and the Holy Grail)
    French soldier: "I fart in your general direction!"
32. Can't Let Go - Lucinda Williams
33. (Clip from The Outlaw Josey Wales)
    Wales: "You a bounty hunter?"
    Bounty hunter: "Man's got to do somethin' for a livin' these days."
    Wales: "Dyin' ain't much of a livin', boy."
34. Out of the Cathouse - Anthony Gomes
35. (Clip from Star Trek)
    McCoy: "He's dead, Jim!"
36. Shiver - Maroon 5
37. (Clip from Crusade)
    Gideon: "Who's your little Pak'ma'ra?"
38. Bo Diddley - Bob Seger w/Teegarden and VanWinkle
39. (Clip from Saturday Night Live)
    Wayne: "Yeah, and monkeys might fly outta my butt!"
40. Mama Papa Tu - Mongo Santamaria
41. (Clip from Young Frankenstein)
    Dr. Frankenstein: "Igor, would you give me a hand with the bags?"
    Igor: "Certainly, you take the blonde and I'll take the one in the turban. "
    
    
    

Self-Portrait Thursday: Bad Hair Day!

Poster child for birth control

This isn't technically a self portrait, but it does satisfy the Bad Hair requirement. Circa 1990, trashed in the bathroom of some bar in or near Flint. Cherie, did you take this picture? Charming, just charming.

Just some stuff, 'kay?

The flu's got me a little too bugged out to write a coherent narrative tonight, so I'll just claim blogger's privilege and be random.

• Song I keep playing over and over in the car: Real Emotion by Los Lonely Boys
• Favorite brain candy: General Hospital, of course
• Favorite TV show right now: Deadwood
• Best line heard on TV today while home sick: "Kiss my junk." said by some dude to another dude on All My Children
• Jim and I once spent a lovely day in Niagara Falls (in the town, not in the water). The Burger King where we had breakfast was offering Hunchback handpuppets for sale. Completely unable to resist, we purchased a Hunchback puppet and a Gargoyle puppet. I thought nothing more of it until we went into a fairly nice Italian restaurant for dinner, and Jim came up with the Gargoyle on his hand and ordered with the puppet (you know, using his cartoon gargoyle voice). Yeah, the waitress looked at him just like that!
• I love to dress in black leather, but you will never find me atop a moving motorcycle. I dated a guy who rode a bike, and had maybe two rides on the back of it. God, even the Fieros were bigger than we were. Thanks, I'll keep my skin where it is.
• Does anybody besides me think it would be hot to see Wilford Brimley put on some lipstick and kiss Robert Mitchum right on the mouth?
• Would it sweeten the pot if I replaced Wilford Brimley with Ed McMahon?

Camaro row row your boat

This baby is the only brand-new car I've ever owned. It was totally a mid-life crisis car, and I miss it sooooo much in the summer. Yes, I'm a pussy and it was an automatic.

No shades

Taken sometime in '96 or early '97, when I still had the ability to wear midriff-baring tops without scarring the psyches of small children.
And in case you're wondering, I did eventually have that unsightly guitar removed from my neck.

That ain't the monkey's paw

Sometimes in the summer, Jim and I will take a Friday off from work and go to the Detroit Zoo. I may be teetering dangerously on 40 years old, but there's nothing like a trip to the zoo to get me jumping up and down and clapping like a rabid child (well, there are other things, but I promised Jim I wouldn't write about our mating rituals here).

The last time we went, which was probably three or four years ago, it was such a hot day that we spent a disproportionate amount of time in the Penguinarium, which is cavelike and kept very cool. The top of the penguins' area is rocky and sparse, and the bottom half is water. We watched the penguins swim and porpoise, and waddle around on the rocks like little nuns who had to get up mid-crap to fetch more toilet paper.

A mother brought her two young sons in, and the boys were fascinated by the tuxedo birds. When they had the kids' full attention (and you can't tell me they didn't plan it), a large male penguin walked up behind a female that he apparently found enticing, pushed her face-first against a rock, and proceeded to vigorously insinuate his naughty penguin bits into her corresponding penguin bit slot. The little boys were riveted, gripping the rail, staring with total fascination as they both began to pepper their mother with uncomfortable questions about the penguin porno floor show unfolding at a frantic pace before their unjaded eyes. A horrified mom gave us a quick glance of utter helplessness, then quickly and wordlessly swept her arm around both her sons and exited with all due haste.

The little cave echoed with our laughter, and Jim and I didn't think we'd see anything else that would top that. And then came the monkeys.

Monkeys, apes, chimps, baboons, they're all monkeys to me. I am not a zoologist, and I may not even be continent, so allow me my sloppy species identification. In any case, we found ourselves in front of the chimpanzee exhibit, where some chimps napped and a few pranced and cavorted for our amusement. We were standing in the middle of a decent-sized group of strangers when one of the female chimps flopped down on her back, and flung her legs as wide open as they would go. We were lookin' right into the heart of her monkey allure. A few people politely supressed giggles.

Not my husband. He laughed heartily, and then said, loud enough to be heard in the fucking butterfly house, "Hey! She looks just like YOU, honey!"

As I stood there, feeling as helpless as the mother in the penguin house, a few people walked away quickly with their shoulders shaking. A few more people just looked at us and then started giggling. There was nothing I could say or do to lessen the tingle of unwanted attention, so I just stood completely still and prayed for the monkey people to disperse and stop staring at me like...well, like the chimp with her ankles behind her ears.

The whole thing just makes me paranoid about my shaving habits.

Is this the talent show?

Hey, who let that little shit onstage?

Pamper yourself

My grade school was roughly two blocks from my house. There were safeties on both corners where I would have to cross the street. And yet, for some reason, my mom drove me to school every day. And, for some reason, I let her, even though I took no end of teasing about it. Even then, I felt entitled to a chauffeur. Wouldn't you like to just smack my little pampered ass now? I know I would.

I was, however, responsible for the drudgery of walking home, all the way home, even in the snow and stuff! For the most part, my two-block trip was uneventful, until the day when I was in second grade and Ruth Riley decided to be my walkin' buddy.

Ruth was probably twelve years old, but was much, much larger and taller than an average girl her age. She was in the special ed class, and so I knew her more by reputation than by interaction. But when she came up and wanted to be friendly with me on the walk home one day, it was just the way I was raised to treat her nicely and not shun or ridicule her. I sure wish I'd been raised meaner.

Pretty early on in our conversation, Ruth informed me that she wore diapers, and seemed to be prompting me to say I was also presently diaper swaddled. Well, I was seven years old, and bedwetting wasn't that distant a memory yet, so I most certainly was not gonna cop to Pampers in my wardrobe. I kept vehemently denying that I wore diapers, and Ruth became more and more insistent that I admit to it. No way was I backin' down in this matter of honor.

Then she stopped walking and looked at me, her eyes half lidded, and quite reasonably and patiently informed me, "I would hate to have to beat you up."

I looked up at this relative mountain of a girl, and you never saw a petrified little bitch back down and change her story so fast. "Yeah, I wear diapers, wearin' 'em now, yup, me too, uh huh..."

The irony is, I really could've used some diapers at that particular moment.

Damn, and I've still got my prom dress

I knew it was gonna be a strange day when I woke up this morning feeling springy, cheerful, and talkative. This is either a harbinger of the apocalypse, or the little grey men have surreptitiously replaced me with Alien Katy. Those who know me are well aware of the fact that I'm not available for conversation for at least a half an hour after I force myself out of the surrogate womb that is my waterbed. I got nothin' to say, and I don't feel like processing any conversation beyond "Dog been out?" So for me to bound out of bed with the enthusiasm of a tequila-soaked cheerleader is a rare event which should be noted on the calendar in red, and may be cause for a national holiday next year. And this wasn't a case of morning-after-the-epic-shtup giggles, either, 'cause I was givin' Mr. Caught-a-Cold plenty of space last night.

After my glorious, nauseatingly bubbly awakening, the day seemed like it would continue without further incidents of note. I busied myself with a computer-bound combination of actual work and actual farting around and reading lots of other people's blogs (though I made myself promise not to get sucked into the vortex that is Dooce's comment section, just for today). I was finding a pretty waste-heavy ratio of work to time wasting, and in the midst of my glorious electronic thumb twiddling the phone rang.

It was Squirl. "Have you checked your email?"

I hadn't. I set the phone down to go log into my work email. She's provided me with a link, which I followed. I came back in and got back on the phone. "I wish I had a cordless," I remarked. She offered to call me back on my cell, because she really wanted to be on the line with me when I saw what she'd found.

Okay, cell call goin', let's see what we've got. It was a link to the PDF newsletter for a gay-lesbian-bisexual-transgendered organization, and she told me to go to page three. So I paged down, and paged down...

...and l was greeted by the soulful eyes of my high school boyfriend. I haven't seen him in 20 years, but there was no mistake, especially since his full name was printed under the photo. He appears to be pretty "out" but since I haven't asked his permission, I won't use his real name here (you know, in case he doesn't want his friends knowin' he took a skank like me to prom), and we'll just call him Rico.

So, Rico seems to be pretty involved in glbt issues and politics, and is pretty ensconced in the leather-and-levis scene. I even found a way-cool picture of him in his leather (no, Rico, not stalkin' you , but you know I had to look!). I came here intending to say something cheeky (no pun intended; well, yes it was) about my streak with ex-boyfriends (y'all don't know the half of the weird shit).

But you know what? I look at these recent pictures of Rico, and I see something in his expression that was never there when I knew him. He has a contentment about him, like he's found where he's supposed to be, and he's deep-down comfortable. And I find myself not able to write anything snappy or cute about it, because I find myself happy as hell for him.

But Rico? You and I are gonna need to have a little talk about how you look better in them skin-tight leather pants than I do. Not fair, not fair for a minute.

A squirrel for Squirl

This is not my sister, but it is a squirrel on my roof.

Bacchus dat ass up, gurrrrl

Bacchus has his thinking cap on this morning. Either that, or it's a hangover remedy.

The dog is beginning to dislike the camera

Bad dog Snickers listens to devil music and bluegrass while we're gone.

Egotistical cow

I finally got wise and Flickr'd myself. Don't worry, I washed my hands before posting.

Here's my first photo collection of the only person who'll hold still for my camera, which is me.

Mix CD: Midweek Mambo

There is absolutely no theme to this CD, except that it was all tracks I had saved on my PC. I'm guessin' from the title that I probably burned it on a Wednesday. Aren't you thrilled?

1. Tattooed Love Boys - The Pretenders
2. Down on Me - Jackyl
3. Hamp-Mo-Tized - Susan Tedeschi
4. This Love - Maroon 5
5. Super Duper Love - Joss Stone
6. Fever - Kung Fu Diesel
7. Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet
8. Hackensack - Fountains of Wayne
9. Hurricane on China Lake - Marcia Ball
10. Spooky - Classics IV
11. Stiletto - Billy Joel
12. Jackson, Mississippi - Kid Rock
13. The Letter - The Boxtops
14. Suddenly Last Summer - The Motels
15. Time Won't Let Me - The Outsiders
16. Love Spreads - The Stone Roses
17. Paradise by the Dashboard Lights - Meatloaf
    

Gene Simmons' love child

Or was that Tattoos and Tongues Thursday?

Did somebody say Tattoo Thursday?

Yes, I'm in the bathroom at work. What?

We tried to be in his video

Here's a picture of Scott Morgan circa 1989 at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor.

Bucky fingerpaints

Okay, they let me use a brush that day. Anudder one of my paintings done in fluorescent watercolors. Am I too young to be a hippie?

High-speed devil dog

This was supposed to be a picture of the birdbath and grapevine. Bad dog Snickers bolted into the picture as I snapped it.

They say I'm cocky, and I say "What?"

Jim went to a Flint Generals (our UHL team) hockey game yesterday, and they were hosting the Motor City Mechanics. Now, this game was especially momentous for my man, who is mourning the loss of the NHL season, because the Mechanics have three former Detroit Red Wings (Chris Chelios, Darrien Hatcher, and Kris Draper) and the Generals have two former Red Wings (Jason Wooley and Kevin Miller). This is as close as it gets to the real thing this season.

Kid Rock came out and dropped the puck to begin the game, and the woman sitting next to Jim showed him a flyer she was carrying, and told him the story to go with it:

This woman and her husband had been up to the VIP area of Perani's Arena, and their journey took them past the suite where the Kid was ensconced. She wrote on her flyer, "Kid, will you sign this?" and put it under the door. The flyer promptly disappeared, then came back under to her with Kid's answer:

"Yes."

Smartass! So she wrote, "Well, sign it then!" and slid it back under. A moment later, the flyer reappeared with a nice Kid Rock autograph on it.

Nice to know success doesn't preclude a grown man behaving like a cheeky monkey.

Don't lilac that to me

My lilac bush is as eager for springtime as I am.

The pooch in my pants

Bad dog Snickers spends more time in my chair than I do. Here, he's not only stolen my chair, he's got my pants, my robe, and my notebook. But could you say "no" to that face?

Like a broken record

Third shift was a fact of life for Jim when I met him, and for a few years after we were married. He was head of night stock in a grocery store, and I was pretty resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be there at night. I bounced around between all three shifts at Meijer when we were first married; the really fun weeks were the ones where I would work all three shifts within five days. Tell me that didn't do some permanent damage to my bearings.

A lot of nights during the summer, I'd come home from second shift and just sleep on the couch. That way I wouldn't have to tear myself away from Nick at Nite as I fell under the sandman's spell. I'd often drift off to dreamland with the theme from Mr. Ed swimming laps around my fishbowl mind. I never could figure out why I used to have those nightmares about giant, speckled penises talking to me.

On one such night, and I'm not sure if I was having the speckled dream or not, the phone rang not long after I'd gone to sleep, maybe 3 a.m. or so. It wasn't uncommon for Jim to call me from work, so I just assumed it would be him on the line when I picked up. This was long before we had the greatest invention of mankind attached to our phone, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you that I mean Caller ID. But this was the olden, blind-faith-in-the-fucker-on-the-other-end phone answering days, and I answered with a sleep-roughened "Hullo?"

A husky whisper on the other end made a rather blunt sexual suggestion to me. Aha, I thought, waking up ever so slightly, Jim wants to be cute. So I played along.

"Yeah, baby, that sounds great, uh huh," I replied in my best imitation of bottom-of-the-barrel porn acting. Uh, you know, or so I've heard.

The husky whisperer, obviously heartened by my cooperation, kept repeating the same request over and over, and after a few iterations, I was frankly tiring of the game. If you're gonna wake me up and talk dirty, at least be creative, fer chrissake! My patience for the whole thing was waning, and I snapped, "Okay, what did you call for?"

Same whispered blunt request.

I realized, late as usual, that this was not Jim on the other end of the obscene, and to be brutally honest, unimaginative phone call.

After I hung up on the lonesome noodle plucker, I realized that I was more offended by the utter lack of preparation than anything else. Really, guys, if you're gonna call a woman, disguise your identity, and talk the filty talk to her, please at least write up a list of talking points before you take the phone in your left hand and the mayonnaise in your right.

It's the right thing to do.

Mix CD: Chick Songs I

OK, I had such a good time posting my funk CD I thought I'd put another one up. I swear I won't do this again in place of writing. Not this week, anyway.

1. High Road Easy - Sass Jordan
2. Rock and Roll -- Susan Tedeschi
3. Your Little Secret -- Melissa Etheridge
4. Can't Turn You Loose -- Angela Strehli
5. Tee Ni Ne Ni Nu -- Lou Ann Barton
6. Superstar -- Sheryl Crow
7. Barracuda -- Heart
8. Chuck E's in Love -- Rickie Lee Jones
9. You Got the Love -- Rufus/Chaka Khan
10. If Love Was a Train -- Michelle Shocked
11. Sunny Came Home -- Shawn Colvin
12. Sweet Dreams -- the Eurythmics
13. La Ti Da -- Marcia Ball
14. Who Walks In? -- Candye Kane
15. Everybody's Talkin' About Miss Thing -- Lavay Smith and the Red-Hot Skillet Lickers
16. How Strong is a Woman -- Etta James
17. Love-O-Rama -- Southern Culture on the Skids
18. Not My Idea -- Garbage
19. Are You Happy Now? -- No Doubt
20. Fog Town -- Michelle Shocked
    

Tardist strikes!

Remember that picture I posted last week of my family, circa 1967?

My delightful brother, Tardist, has had his revenge upon me with his blog.

Thought you would all enjoy the latest volley in the Sibling Blog Teasing Olympics.

Mix CD: SNAFU (Situation Normal, All Funked Up)

1. Brick House -- The Commodores
   
2. Superstitious -- Stevie Wonder
3. Mother Popcorn -- James Brown
4. Cut the Cake -- Average White Band
5. Give Up the Funk -- Parliament
6. Me and Baby Brother -- War
7. Thank You (Fallettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) -- Sly and the Family Stone
8. Play That Funky Music -- Wild Cherry
9. Serpentine Fire -- Earth Wind and Fire
10. Sex Machine -- James Brown
11. What is Hip? -- Tower of Power
    
12. Love Rollercoaster -- The Ohio Players
13. Dance With Me -- Rufus and Chaka Khan
14. Pick Up the Pieces -- Average White Band
15. Dance to the Music -- Sly and the Family Stone
16. The Crunge -- Led Zeppelin
17. Burnin' On -- Reverend Right-Time and the First Cuzins of Funk
18. Get on the Good Foot -- James Brown
19. Jungle Boogie -- Kool and the Gang
20. Superfly -- Curtis Mayfield
21. Unfunky UFO -- Parliament
    

Check out these knockers!

Is this Ta-Tas Thursday? Even then, I was bustin' out of my top!

Bitch hiding behind camera

I know it's early for self-portrait Thursday, but where is it written that I can't be egotistical a day early?

Takin' it to the streets

Back in the mid '90s (yes, last millenium, kids), I ran with a crowd made up of artists, off-center musicians, writers, and people who weren't really creative but were fun to drink with. This was back in the days of Singing Mammogram, the most avant garde musical project of my life (the "band" was often just me with my geetar and a cheap microphone), and we used to gig at Churchill's in downtown Flint.

There was another band that was often on the bill with Singing Mammogram, an all-girl punk outfit called, over the course of the band's life, Shirley Jones, Company Corn, and Pasketti. The girls in Pasketti, Rose the singer/bassist, Michele on guitar, and Kat, drummer extraordinaire, all shared a house off Third Avenue, which they nicknamed "Mathewson Island." The fourth roomie, a gal named Bailey who was younger than the rest of us, didn't play in the band, but was always present and fun at the ensuing band parties.

We were all gathered on Churchill's one night when neither Pasketti nor Singing Mammogram were gigging, and that just meant more time for all of us to guzzle the pitchers full of watered-down diarrhea that passed for draft beer. Bailey, in spite of the fact that she was not yet 21, was keeping up with us, guzzle for guzzle. By the time the lights came up and we were unceremoniously pushed out into the street by the waitstaff, who selfishly wanted to go home because it was closing time, everyone in our group was feeling mighty jovial, and nobody was ready for the fun to end yet.

It was a chilly night, probably in early spring, but we had no desire to disband, so we stood talking and laughing and being generally obnoxious out in front of Churchill's. It was at this point that Bailey made the evening her own.

She announced, loudly enough to be heard in Grand Blanc, "I have to pee!" Then, instead of heading to the door of Churchill's and begging for readmittance, as I expected, Bailey headed for the road. She stood in the middle of Saginaw Street and dropped her drawers.

I, for once in my life, tried to be the voice of reason, because this couldn't really be happening, could it? "Bailey," I shouted, trying not to choke on amazed giggles, "you can't pee in the street!"

Bailey continued her pantiless squat and said nonchalantly, "Sure you can, I do it all the time!"

And then Bailey commenced to peeing in the middle of the main drag in downtown Flint. I watched in morbid fascination as her strong and admirable stream puddled around her funky dress shoes and then drained off into the brick grid of Saginaw Street. Bailey seemed to be relishing the fact that she could actually surprise me, and was obviously taking her time so that she might savor the moment. After the last drop was squeezed out and had become part of the ambience of downtown, she stood up and re-pantied herself.

Not two seconds after she'd smoothed out her skirt, a Flint City police car came around the corner. He drove past slowly, giving the evil eye to the throng of us still actin' stupid in front of Churchill's, and drove right through Bailey's Lake O' Piss.

I will never, ever feel embarassed about having to pee in the woods again.

Oh, come on, like you guys don't have dolls in your offices, too!

Janis and I both like to have a bottle handy when we come offstage, or after a good, ass-stingin' spankin' from a Russian despot.

Naughty tchotchkes part 2

Even Emperor Londo Mollari cannot escape the spankin' hand of Fearless Leader.

Naughty tchotchkes part 1

Fearless Leader gives Janis Joplin the spanking she's always needed.