"Young Lust" by Pink Floyd is on the radio right now. This song does such a wonderful job of conveying angst and wanton desire. Definitely one of my favorites.

When I was a kid, David Gilmore's style moved me. It was melodic and gritty, powerful and delicate all at the same time. He made me want to play guitar. I had heard Hendrix, Harrison, Clapton and Page before but it wasn't until Gilmore came into my live that I was filled with such desire.

I must get some new strings for my guitar. I need to connect with that twelve year old girl who dreamt of bringing down the ax.

All of the big bosses are up from corporate headquarters, so I have to look busy today.

But how's this for a perk: Sony Digital Voice Recorder. And the cool thing about it is that I was going to buy one anyway (So I can interview my family for my novel).

Over lunch, KellyGirl told me about a wedding she attended this weekend. And after the rehearsal dinner (and many, many drinks), she and another guest went up to a groomsman's room to watch a movie. About half way through, he moves in real close to KellyGirl, puts his head on her chest and clasps her hand. A little while later, the bed moves - and she noticed it was because the other chick spooned up to him.

After the movie ended, she sprang up from the bed and split. "Not that I'm opposed to the idea," she explained to me, "But that girl was thoroughly unattractive."

HFG asked if I've ever had a threesome. Heh-heh "Hell yeah!" He said, "Really? You don't strike me as the type." Curious, I asked, "What makes you say that?" He responded, "Because you seem like the jealous type." And I laughed to myself that his answer didn't include questioning my sexuality. This kid's a little more intuitive than first suspected.

Paul is Dead



And by "dead," I mean "In China." I'll be there, since at some point that evening, I have to meet with the heads of the Extreme Scavenger Hunt to finalize the rules and such.

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo...

LONDON - Monica Lewinsky says she feels betrayed by Bill Clinton's failure to acknowledge how he destroyed her life in his newly released memoirs.

Well, that's very reasonable considering he was the one who opened his big von trap about the affair in the first place.....

My co-writer/director on a few projects and good friend, Marty (which you only call him if you have a thick, Jersey accent), was in town recently. He's working on a documentary in Seattle on Jimi Hendrix's best friend. It sounds very exciting- they drive around town, pointing out important sites (such as the house in "Red House"). Apparently, Castles Made of Sand is about his father abusing his mother (which eventually led her to commit suicide). Marty says if you close your eyes while this guy plays guitar, it's like Jimi is in the room. I cannot wait for the finished product.

I, myself, just completed the sixth draft of my first feature length script so I could get it out in time for the San Diego Film Festival's screenwriting contest. There were some additions and re-tooling of scenes. Plus, I had to change the main love interest's name from Veronica to Charlotte. My protagonist is a song writer and the joke is that he wrote Elvis Costello's "Veronica." Until K-Dawg let me know it's about his Alzheimer's riddled Grandmother. Hardly a love song. So I renamed the character after Charlotte Sometimes, which works just as well. And don't one of you tell me that Smith wrote it in tribute to his childhood puppy that got plowed by a truck because I will just snap.

All Rise...

JUNE 24--While seated on the bench, an Oklahoma judge used a male enhancement pump, shaved and oiled his nether region, and pleasured himself, state officials charged yesterday in a petition to remove the jurist.

Chief of Detectives of the Sapulpa Police Department, Brant Green, was also present during the murder trial and heard a, "swooshing kind of air, like kind of ch ch," and saw Judge Thompson making some movement with his upper body and arms.

Judge Thompson admitted the penis pump was under the bench during the murder trial. He testified the pump was a gag gift from a friend.

Honestly, baby, it's not mine!

Dog Toy or Marital Aid?

Test your savvy here.

Torpedo Tits

A German-based doctor has invented breast implants made from titanium.

Oh thank Goddess! Now all those girls gone wild will be light enough to race in the Tour de France.

The Horror......

You won't be seeing more of Colin Farrell this summer. One of the most buzzed about movie scenes of the season - his full-frontal nude turn in "A Home at the End of the World" - has been chopped because it was considered too distracting.

I'll say! I was distracted from just reading the article.... But seriously- who do we have to blow to get some schlong up on the screen? And I don't mean Harvey Keitel! Why does this one thing remain taboo in Hollywood? They're missing a huge opportunity- I'd pay double for a glimpse into Brad Pitt's wonder shorts!

*Sigh*

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be over here watching The Life of Brian.

Meanwhile, on my way to work, there was a (presumably homeless) guy with a tv on his wheelchair which was plugged into the lightpost. He and his buddies are maxin' on the corner, watching Good Morning America.

And the next two weeks better hurry up and finish so I don't have to look at Michael Moore's smug, fat face on tv anymore.

Read that article linked above (via Mr. Stephen)...it's a bit long, but worth it.

I'm still on the fence about seeing it. While I'm not a Bush fan (the President, dirty.), I don't know if I can stand Moore's propagandistic docket for two hours. This is a subject very close to my heart and for him to just let bullshit fly is disrespectful to me and everyone else involved that day.

Saturday night, while on a blanket in the park with wine and cheese as the Metropolitan Opera performed Madama Butterfly, my friend remarked, "Man, this is the life."

Naturally, I agreed. But I have to say that getting my nails done yesterday at the Garden State Plaza Mall ran a close second.

I'm gonna have a heart-attack and die from this surprise....

Ladies!

Do you want to have big, lustrous Rocky Horror lips? Then run out to Sephora and buy this: Hard Candy's Stain and Shine (or you can order it on line) in Stop! The color swatch does not do it justice- it's a deep red after two coats. And the gloss is nice and thick (just the way I like my men). You may be thinking $17 is a bit pricey, but trust! It stays on forever and looks unbelievably sensuous.

Oooo, yeah. Two more weeks and I'll have my mits all over one of these...

While nursing hangovers, I like to lie in my plush-deluxe bed and watch TV. This weekend's programming featured Steven King movies- Pet Cemetery, Misery and Carrie (which I never realized has a young, Farrah-haired Edie McClurg). Usually, horror movies are bad idea since I let my imagination get the best of me late at night. But since they were on during the day, I thought it was safe.

Until the new Salem's Lot premiered later that evening. Tres Creepy. The conclusion's on tonight and I'm a glutton for punishment, so.....

I like how the SK remakes include more detail than the originals. While nothing compares to Kubric's Shining, the tv version added more of the plot: like the importance of a balanced boiler, moving animal-shaped hedges and a less timid Wendy. Same goes for this one as well. I'm sure it helps that they can air it over a few nights instead of making you take it in one big lump. But King is the master of the slow build up so I, for one, say that he should only do tv movies. You get more out of it.

And aside from all that, Rob Lowe is still hot.

Sex Day! Sex Day! Sex Day!!!!

I like seeng nipples, I like touching nipples, I like...well, you could pretty much fill in a verb and you'd be right. I like _____ing nipples.

(To test this theory, I will now go to a random website from my collection of odd websites, pick a random verb and report back. Ready? There, I'm back. Try this: "I like paving nipples." OK, so maybe not every verb works. I do not like paving nipples, unless it is with raspberry jam, and then only if we follow the paving with a rousing game of "here comes Mr. Tongue Snowplow to clear the roads...)

Yeah, baby!

So with all the craziness of those men, I was this close to drilling a hole in the side of a mountain to build a lab where I could create a fine mist that would eradicate the other gender, save select few.

And Monday, I was saved by Jesus.....

.....The hot Latino FedEx guy who's been flirting with me for the past two months and finally worked up the nerve to ask me out. He has the most dreamy eyes. He's called twice since (and once to ask me out for lunch but I took the day off, damnit!) and stopped by today (just as I finished shoving my face full of Starbursts. I tried to discretely push the wrappers off my desk). And I noticed his big, Popeye forearms- my ultimate weakness.

OhMiGawd, I cannot wait to receive....

So in addition to the IRA craziness, two other men contributed to making last weekend absolutely craptacular. Here's the next installment:

My ex broke up with me about three months ago. Didn't really give me a reason at the time. Just said he didn't want to do this anymore and hung up the phone (Yeah, classy).

About a month later, I did a little drunk dialing to ask what the hell went wrong. He said that I was different from when he met me and subsequently fell out of love with me.

So, I tried to drink him off my mind, as it were.

Two weeks ago, he calls to say what a terrible mistake he made, how he should have stuck by me and understood what I was going through (In reference to my different personality: Rearranging your life for your sister, her baby and abusive boyfriend will do that to a gal). He's always thinking about me and how life has gotten worse without me and was still in love with me. Basically everything a woman wants to hear.

While my instincts said to hang up the phone, he moved my sentimental side. So I said that if he wants to be with me, he'll have to move to New Jersey.

He wanted to take his vacation to think about it. Fine, this is a big decision for a guy from the Midwest. Two days after he got back, I hadn't heard word one. For two days! But he managed to check my blog during that time.

Wait, it gets better: I read on his blog that his grandmother had been in the hospital and he's been going back and forth. I don't know what's more pathetic- that he took a few minutes to post instead of calling the woman he (supposedly) loves or that I read it on his blog.

So I call to ask if everything's okay. He says he's tired and asks if he can call me the next day. That was six days ago.

Why did he even bother contacting me in the first fucking place? Whatever.

As my Grandmother would say- he can go take a shit.

"See, when those guys were over in Vietnam, they got so used to fucking those hot gooks that when they got back, they didn't want anything to do with the women here."

-My Uncle explaining to me the meaning behind The Guess Who's "American Woman." I was twelve.

So you're probably wondering why I deleted the old blog. Here's the story (and I apologize to all who have read/heard it before- new stuff to come)

Okay, so I'm in Yonkers Irish guy starts talking to me right? All is going well- we're laughing, flirting, having a good time. He asks for my phone number to take me out. A suddenly, just afterward, his mood changes. He asks if I see the guys across the street, sitting in the car (we were outside for a smoke). Well, he says that I'm not safe since I've been seen with him and I'll PROBABLY GET SHOT IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD WITHIN THE NEXT TWO WEEKS. I'm all, "huh?" And he mumbles something about the IRA and them being old school.

So I say, "Uh, we should go inside." and I'm waving him in. Apparently, that was disrespectful cause he starts talking more crazy shit like, "You could use some redemption." and asks if I'm ready to die, saying I should die because I know too much (at one point he talked about someone he had to whack and asked if I was okay with that). I said, "Sure, whatever blows your hair back. We all gotta make a living," but inside, I'm freaking out cause he was reminding me of Max Cady . And I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and drag KellyGirl with me.

I was like- we have to go NOW and explained to her what was going on. I broke down in tears because I've been in a very fragile emotional state lately (that's two other stories). So I ask her to check where he is in the bar -doesn't see him so I immediately went to the bartender and told him what happened and ask if some of the bouncers could walk me to a cab. Natch, they were more than gracious.

So four bouncers get me into the cab Secret Service style and I slump down in the seat so's not to get plugged in the head. Kelly has one foot in the cab and was yelling to her guy for him to come with. He's hesitating, she's trying to convince and I'm like, can we please fucking get the fuck out of this fucking place right fucing now?!?!?
When we got back to her place (4:30am), I called everyone I knew with a computer to see if it were possible to track down my address from just my first name and phone number. In the haste of the moment, I had my sister delete my blog as well. Trying to cover my tracks, ya know. And if Sprint were open, I would have changed my number as well.

Come to find out, it's a little more difficult than putting that info through a search engine. So I feel better.

Although, while watching Kill Bill part 2 Friday night, I had an anxiety attack when Bill shot the TV (If you saw it, you'd know why).

Now that I'm writing under a nom de plume, it's gonna get crazy. Promise.