Dendrophilia: sexual attraction to trees.
I understand that I may reveal, and other parties may reveal, information about me that is of a personal, private, embarrassing or unfavorable nature, which information may be factual and/or fictional. I further understand that my appearance, depiction and/or portrayal in the Program may be disparaging, defamatory, embarrassing or of an otherwise unfavorable nature which may expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation. I acknowledge and agree that Producer shall have the right to (a) include any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in the Program as edited by Producer in its sole discretion, and (b) to broadcast and otherwise exploit the Program containing any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in any manner whatsoever in any and all media now known or hereafter devised, or for any other purpose, throughout the universe in perpetuity.
Geesh! Bring on the public ridicule, humiliation and condemnation! BRING IT ON!
Here's to you AMerican Idol! Here's to you!
Okay, I think that princess has issues. Those of you that know her would obviously look at me and say “DUH! She's a psycho beast from hell. Of course she has issues!”
Of these issues I am well aware. I am talking about NEW issues, of course.
You see, Princess has actively taken up singing. Yes, kids, I do mean singing. She LOVES to sing. I kid you not. Whenever I start singing she bounds over from whatever rooms she happens to find herself in to stand at my side, nose way way way up in the air, howling along.
At first I thought that she didn't like Bonnie Raitt, or maybe Christmas music. And really, who could blame her for hating Christmas music? Does anyone really like the 12 days of Christmas? It goes on for eons! And what in the hell does “Fa la la la la” really mean?
But lately this bizarre dog sing along has escalated way out of control. Really. Every time I sing scales for warm up or attempt a bar of any tune princess immediately starts yowling along. I swear, she is even trying to yowl in the same key that I am in. It's eerie.
But, in truth, I can not say that I am surprised to see princess trying to steal my thunder. Yes, I know this may sound weird, but I am pretty damn convinced that she is trying to steal Ross, as well. It does make sense. She's always flirting with him, she howls and barks till he comes out of our room in the early morning to sleep with her on the couch. She gets annoyed and jealous when I come home from work trips. And she always tries to sit in the front seat next to Ross when we are all in the car together.
As Ross is fond of saying that she is only one IQ point short of human she obviously thinks that it is time for her to get a boyfriend, too. Mine, actually.
And this is only step one in her nefarious plan.
e
You all know Payless, right? You know, that crazy little purveyor of cheap but colorful footwear. Knock offs of knock offs. As a general rule, if Payless has mass marketed a trendy shoe, it is a trend that is over, way way over. I mean, really, think about it now? Have you ever seen a pair of Payless shoes and just had to have them? Have you ever wandered the yellow aisles of faux leather and the dirty bare feet of strangers with the guilty reverence generally reserved only for that one time a year you manage to make it to church? Would you kill for them, even?
Yeah, me neither. Or that's what I thought until today, that is. It all started with a commercial on the television. A commercial of pretty girls, girls with perfectly toned and tanned mid sections and pleasantly painted toes. Girls wearing shoes. PAYLESS SHOES. And then, enters a perfectly pampered set of feet. But these feet are different. These feet, I say, are not just any feet. How could they be? These lovely anonymous perfectly painted feet are firmly ensconced in just the cutest pair of bright red wedge espadrilles. And these espadrilles are just brimming over with the most adorable little white polka dots. Loads and loads of 'em! No one needs quite that many perfect polka dots.
And could it possibly be mere coincidence that I happen to have the the most perfect little 1940's inspired red dress that just happens to be brimming over with oodles and oodles of white polka dots? And, of course, I must not forget to mention that both dress and shoe match perfectly in both color and composition. Coincidence? I think not! This, my friends, could only be the work of Satan.
Imagine! Satan, in all his soul searing glory is demanding that I go out and buy Payless shoes! There really is no other possible explanation, I'm sure of it. I might even be possessed by the demon himself! Don't laugh! It really would explain many things. I mean, how else could you possibly explain my strange fixation on 20 dollar shoes? This is me, I am a shoe snob! And Payless, generally, is the embodiment of all that a shoe snob deplores. Star Jones advertises for them! Does anybody out there like Star Jones? Only Satan. And BOGO. That is so the work of Satan! And anyways, what the hell is that shit, anyways? And couldn't they come up with a better advertising campaign?
What other proof do you need? Satan IS is eating my soul. One cheap red shoe at a time.
Peace.
Dear Daddy,
I am at a gay bar in leipzig Germany. Yes, daddy, it is a gay bar. And yes, daddy, I am still not gay. A gay bar with email, no less. How cool is technology, right? Did you know that I look good in a studded collar? I really do, daddy! But I am still not gay. I am just going to hell.
I'm okay with that.
I expect that that the music is fab.
And god knows that christian music is horrifyingly bad.
I hope that you are okay with this.
I still love you. I hope you still love me. Even though I am most assuredly going to hell.
e
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Special people Create Special Posters!!!
This, of course, is what my 14 year old niece is
learning in student government. Isn’t that special?
And awesomely relevant to day to day life, I’m sure.
I bet that you didn’t know that.
Are you special? Because I am feeling special. That
is, if a murderous rage tempered only by a vague sort
of ennui can be truly considered special. My job is
driving me crazy! And this truly is an accomplishment
as I never even seem to work. My dad, he knows so
much about job insanity, he told me that all jobs are
like this. If this is so, I am ready for retirement.
Call me crazy, but I still believe that your job
should not suck the very life out of you and leave you
an empty, trembling husk of flaky skin and halitosis.
Somebody, find me a job!
According to and oh so effectively made poster that my
niece owns about, what else, effective poster making
for special people and posters or some such silliness:
And based on the fact that we have all already decided
that I more than likely fill the basic requirements
for specialness I think that we should explore the
other tenets of the special poster people making
bible. Whew! That was a mouthful.
Here goes:
Tenet number one: Attract attention.
I can do that. I have BIG BOOBS! They attract
attention. My niece is equal parts horrified and
mesmerized by them. They frighten her.
MOVING ON
Tenet number two: Hold a Viewers interest
This, too I think that the boobs cover. Okay, maybe
not. But I do tend to say insane things to strangers.
And often, they are horrified and oddly mesmerized
waiting to see what sort of debauched blasphemy will
pore out next. And, this, my friends, holds a persons
interest. I am sure of it.
Tenet number three: Create a memory
Hm. I do tend to go to wild parties in foreign
countries and take lots of crazy pictures of my
girlfriends. Aren’t pictures of nights that were
probably better forgotten really just memories for all
the world to see? And besides, if I didn’t put of
those pictures of my friends and I then I would never
have experienced the joys of a conversation with my
dad the highlights of which were his asking me if I
might be gay. Trust me, you haven’t truly bonded with
your daddy until you have sat at a bowling alley diner
and been asked if you are gay.
(the answer is, unfortunately, no in case you too are
wondering)
See! Right now, you and I dear reader, we are creating
a memory.
Memories! CHECK!
Tenet number four: Urge Action of a Viewer
Okay, viewer, I URGE you to FIND ME A NEW JOB. One
that doesn’t regularly leave me curled up in a ball in
a dirty corner eating my own hair and murmuring
unintelligible obscenities at colorful bits of free
form pocket lint.
Okay. I think that I have met all the required tenets
of special poster making people specialness. And I
want you to know, that I don’t’ feel any better. All
of this work none of the glory.
In conclusion, I think that we have proved
conclusively one: that work sucks. Two: posters suck.
And three: I am NOT GAY.
Peace out homies!
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Our Love Fern is Dying
Our love fern is dying! You know, that first house plant that a couple buys together. It really doesn't have to be a fern. In fact, I have no idea what the hell kind of plant our love fern actually is. But I do know that it's supposed to be indestructible. Kind of like Jesus or Twinkies, maybe.
You have one too, don't you? You know, for years you don't even notice that it's there and you have no idea how it survives as neither of you ever admit to watering the fool thing. But after nearly half a decade of taking it totally for granted you wake up one day and realize that you kind of find its presence nice, comforting even, like oatmeal or lawn mower magazines. I mean, if you think about it, it's been with you both from almost the beginning. Longer than your favorite t shirt or episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer even. (In case you were wondering, mine is that god awful musical episode from season six. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a bad musical.) And one day you wake up and finally realize it for what it is; a marker of something vital and lovely in your life history. It's a visual reminder of a wonderful place in your relationship when it was new and squeaky clean. You remember, you used to actually get taken on dates then. And sometimes he even helped with the dishes. And right then you vow to take better care of it. Or at least to try and remember to water it once and a while.
And that, my friends, is exactly the moment that the damn thing starts to droop. And then it starts to turn yellow. And then, when most of it's leaves have finally finished turning that sickly, mushy looking shade of yellow, you know, the one that really doesn't look good with anyone's complexion, and most certainly doesn't go with your kitchen décor, that's when it's leaves start to turn brown and get all crusty. Now, admittedly, the brown crusty is an improvement in color and texture but you do realize that it doesn't really bode well for the health of your love fern. And somewhere in the midst of all this icky transformation you started to notice a weird whitish colored film spreading across the top of its soil.
And the more you try to care for it the worse it gets. And then you get pissed. And then you throw the damn thing away and replace it with a look alike all the while hoping Ross won't realize it but somehow hoping that he does. I mean, really, it is your love fern and all. You want him to bestow on it the same affection and care that you do, or did. But let's be real. Mostly you'd rather just get way with the switch. But just when you think that you've succeeded you look over at Ross only to see him eying the 'impostor' closely. And then he looks over at you and says, “That's not our love fern. What happened to our love fern? Did it die?” And your only response is “Aliens. It must have been aliens.”
Disclaimer:
All love ferns, disposal of love ferns, and Ross's appearing within these words are works of fiction and products of the author's imagination. They are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, persons or ferns, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sincerely,
The Management
Long Live Love!
You all remember Ross, right? Boyfriend
extraordinaire, rescuer of imprisoned dogs, runner of
mountains etc. he has all kinds of lovely qualities.
But you're not really interested in those, are you?
Me neither.
To be plain, I like odd men. And Ross is nothing if
not odd. Please enjoy this reinactment of a
conversation we had this afternoon:
Ross: Get Up!
Me: No! I'm sick.
R: Well at least get off me!
M: No! I'm sick.
R: Do something, already!
M: I just did, see? I rolled over.
R: Yeah, cause you're getting bed sores!
M: Nuh, uh. I'm hungry.
R: Okay, how about you play piano while I put
everything in the living room in a box. Then you can
go through it.
E: Um...??
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For a New Yorker vegetarian (more or less) I must
admit that I have a truly weird and wonderful fixation
with squirrel recipes. It's inexplicable, really.
If you, too are plagued with inexplicable weirdness
visit http://www.scarysquirrel.org/recipes/
Bon Apetit!
e
Squirrel Puree - anonymous
(great for ol' timers with no teeth)
Take a blender and a squirrel
Put squirrel in blend
Switch blender on
Blend until smoth
Serve and enjoy
Come to Jesus Organic Squirrel - anonymous
Shoot the squirrel that's been climbing on your bird
feeder. Feel slightly bad. Skin and remove innards.
Snap off squirrel hands-n-feet and keep them for key
chains, good luck charms, or run them down the
disposal. Keep disposal running... eventually they go
down. Clean, and soak squirrel in 6 dollar a gallon
organic milk overnight. Rinse, quarter, flash fry with
shallots and garlic. Season with rosemary and salt
place in oven at 350 for 35 minutes. Eat. Feel
connected to the cycle of life.
"Eat more squirrel." TS Elliot
Skwerl Avec Toothpaste - anonymous
1 skwerl (live if possible)
1 bottle orange soda
3 tablespoons peanut butter
1 coconut (whole)
1lb noodles (any)(uncooked)
toothpaste as garnish
TT cinnamon, lifesavers, pepperoni, and anchovies
add all ingredients together in stock pot, bring to
boil and keep boiling... serve in cardboard boxes and
eat on the bathroom floor along with the people who
live in your neighbors basement. enjoy!!
Slow Baked Mastadon Skwerl - Mr. Hammeroni
For this one, you will need a VERY large skwerl. At
least two or three hundred pounds or so.
Get in your time machine. Set the little digital
thingy for six million years BC. Trap one bushy-tail
sabertooth- muscle bound mastadon skwerl. Avoid
getting eaten by the skwerl.
Bring the skwerl back to the good old twenty-first
century, or maybe it will bring you.. Dig a
fifteen-foot hole. Add in order:
- Two cords of wood
- Five gallons of kerosene.
- Light the wood.
- Partially cover the fire with ten or twenty large
rocks, to absorb the heat and slowly cook the monster.
- Soak the beast in five gallons of barbecue sauce,
one cup of cayenne pepper, and a half a pound of salt.
Salt is optional. Wrap in ten layers of banana leaves.
- Place prepared skwerl on the now hot rocks, and
cover the hole with as many other large rocks as you
can find.
- Dig it up in about a week, it should be nice and
tender..
World Salvation Skwerl - anonymous
Catch as many squirrels as possible... how you do
this. peanut butter in a microwave. wen they enter the
microwave start to microwave the squirrel. put it on
for at least 7 minutes 30 seconds. by this time the
squirrle should have no fur and his skin should be
bubbling. this is only the warning. if you put it on
for another minute or so you can blow it up and you
got instant chinese food as well as saveing the world.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
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Okay; why is it that I can not stay awake in Istanbul?
I really just don't get it. I am positively itching to get a chance to explore that amazing city, but invariably I am suddenly comatose as soon as I get to the hotel. I am truly ashamed. I am currently stuck in a different little Turkish town and I am wide awake. But as it is a cess pool I will stay inside.
I am mourning a wasted opportunity.
And now; I leave you with a song...
e
Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night
Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you've a date in Constantinople
She'll be waiting in Istanbul
Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way
So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works
That's nobody's business but the Turks
