Friday, July 30

Oy! So far today I've exclusively been dealing with people who's comprehension skills are as clear as the air hanging around the island.

On three hours sleep, patience for repeating myself is wearing thin. So I'll breathe deeply and take solace that at the end of this workday, a ball game awaits me in the Bronx.

And I ain't talking about the Yankees, Hi-Oh!

Alright, I am. Punchy at 10am...not a good sign. Anyway, today will be about sharing. Namely because I don't feel like writing. Enjoy!

From Liam:
I was riding on the bus a while ago, and I overheard two high school girls talking.

One said, "I rented this great old movie the other night. It was old, but it was really good."

The other said, "Oh, what was it?"

And the first one said, "Back to the Future."

And the second one said, "I've never heard of it."

All I could think was, "Now come on, that movie's only - ALMOST TWENTY YEARS OLD! Holy crap. I'm an old man."

I caught myself thinking, "Man these kids today with their movies. In my day, the sex and violence in PG-13 movies was really toned down. We had a little thing called plot and dialogue. I mean, not in the movies I liked, but I think Out of Africa did. I heard it did. I should rent that some time."

Thursday, July 29

My brother's current J.O. in nicknamed, "DogGirl," and not because she's ugly. *Note- this next bit is not for the squeamish.

She earned the moniker during a session with Jay. He was south of the border and her Rottweiler kept trying to nuzzle his way in... Tired of elbowing the thing out of the way, Jay said 'fuck it' and moved aside to let "Bacardi" do the dirty work. He thought DogGirl didn't notice until she asked, "You like animals, Jay?"

Oof, girl- you're givin' me the heebie-jeebies.

This is the same chick that slapped my brother when she saw him at a bar with his arm around another girl. But, ya know, she's fucking every meat sack on the block.

Anyway, I get home from work last week and my brother, his friend and DogGirl are drinking on the stoop. Apparently, she pulled my bottle of vodka out of the freezer. Here's the part that bothers me- she was drinking straight from the bottle. Disgusted, I flew to the kitchen (not putting any of my stuff down), grabbed a glass and headed back outside to give it to her. Fuck, I don't even want her using our toilet never mind putting her mouth all over shit. Ick!

After drinking in Seaside Saturday night, I hung out with my brother and his friend for a while. We're in his room when I hear a rustling of the bushes outside his window. It's DogGirl, trying to make her way through with a guy standing on the sidewalk. He's saying, "C'mon (her real name), I'm sorry, I was gonna call." What is it with you men?!And she's staggering to the door, stopping to berate the poor sap, kisses my brother and walks in. What is it with our stoop? He's left standing there like a sucker and now knows what Jay looks like and where he lives.

I find out from Jay's friend that this kid is her obsessed ex-boyfriend. And I'm thinking, "So help me god if this bitch causes my brother to have even one hair moved out of place, I'm gonna whoop some serious ass." I don't need some tart bringing that drama to my front door..... That job is taken.

Anyway, the next afternoon I open the freezer and my Mr. Penis Ice Mold™ is upside down in a cup, cube forming. This is a never-been-opened gag gift that's prominently displayed next to my Femme Fatale coasters and can of Long Drink.

My brother comes through the kitchen, "What's up with the ice mold," I ask. A big grin sneaks up on his face, "What do you think?" "Making cocktails?" I answer. Poor Jay- living under the constant scrutiny of his older sister. "It wasn't my idea," He volunteers. "What a shaack." Then he says, "There's been worse." Well, at that point I opt to back out of the conversation, dash cunning of him, because I already took a shower.

Okay, one more thing on the TV tip... Caught Rescue Me last night (meant to last week but spaced) and if you haven't yet, you're missing out on some quality programming.

Regardless that I adore Denis Leary (was pissed when they cancelled The Job), the show nails the quick, witty banter of regular New Yorkers and combines it with every day trials and tribulations.

And since it's on FX, you're not getting the vanilla version.

Wednesday, July 28

Last night I walked into my brother's room while he's watching That 70's Show. Wilmer Whatshisface is on camera and I say, "You know he's dating Lindsay Lohan? Which they announced very five seconds after she became legal."

My brother replies, "I don't know who she is, I mean, I've heard her name but wouldn't be able recognize her."

So I say, "She was in Mean Girls....Freaky Friday....The Parent Trap?" All the while he's shaking his head, "She was in that feud with Hillary Duff over Aaron Carter?!"

He goes, "I have no idea who any of those people are."

"Jay, do yourself a favor and watch Entertainment Tonight for five minutes so you can catch up with the rest of the waking world."

TV raised me, and I turned out TV.

For those of you trying to ignore the absurdity of the Democratic Convention, be sure to check out The Daily Show this week with wonderful phrases such as, "Janet Reno dances for no man!" and "Sounds like someone's bucking for a Nobel 'who wants a piece of this' Prize."

Or perhaps turn your attention to Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. Last night was "Riding with the Great White" where this presumably mentally unstable man wanted to ride on the dorsal fin of the GW. Not only that, the photographers had to get out of the cage and follow him to film it.

The first day they threw a wooden dummy, "Bob," into the water to test the behavior of the sharks. They kept circling Bob, biting his leg out of curiosity. While the crew is filming, they noticed the sharks hunt in pairs. One approaches you from the front to distract while the other pulls a sneak attack from the rear.

The entire time, I'm yelling at the TV, "You people are fucking NUTS!" N-V-T-S, nuts!

On the eighth day, during an interview in the hull, one of the photographers explains that they ran out of fresh and hot water for showers, the salt to fresh water converter doesn't always work, only eight gallons for drinking and coffee. Then he turns around and grieves, "And two bottles of red wine left. After that *sigh* we're gonna have to start drinking the chablis," and rolls his eyes.

At that moment, I coinceded maybe they weren't so crazy after all.

Public Service Announcement
brought to you by Breakup News

That's right, kids. Don't drink too much and call your ex. Just don't do it. If you're drunk and you are near a phone, call the drinking and dialing prevention line at 800-NO-D-DIAL. Operators will be standing by to help talk you down.

Tuesday, July 27

Well, slap my ass and call me a bitch!

Hot FedEx Guy just dropped by- asked to speak with me in private. He woefully confessed his lack of recent attention was due to his Ex being in town and they were considering a reconciliation. He didn't delve into detail, but apparently that plan has been scrapped as she's returning to Virginia sometime this week.

Here's the kicker- he understands why I did what I did and doesn't blame me.

Gee, thanks. How many Hail Mary's do I have to say?

And thinks that we have the beginnings of something special and wants to pick up where we left off.

It took all I could not to laugh him out the office. Can you believe the fucking balls on this guy? Does this shit really work?

In the nicest manner possible, I explained that I will not be taken for granted nor someone's second choice. To add further insult to injury, I expounded had he not given me the bullshit run around, I would be inclined to take him up on the offer.

Understanding, he lamented, "Damn, I fucked up. Can I give you my new number just incase you change your mind?"

Admittedly, I weakened for half a second -he is so very fine, the stupid jerk- but instead, "I won't be needing it."

With a day long hangover and four hours of sleep under my belt, the prospect of turning in early Friday night became all too inviting.

Ah, the best laid plans...

A darling dearest friend rang me up. Apparently, a man she had a thing for was coming into town with a group of friends. She wanted me to meet them out, ya know, to take a bit of the pressure off her. I figured what the hell- I hadn't seen her in a couple of weeks and I can sleep when I'm dead.

The Court Tavern- the dive to end all dives. So between conversations about comprehending the appeal of Pittsburgh and giving my friend staunch glances when homeboy announced he had to leave with his friends cause they were his only ride, I noticed an inordinate amount of punk rock skinheads roaming the bar. I thought to myself, "Watch I see Travis here," and no sooner had that gone through my head- there he was, looking adorable as ever.

Travis was my boyfriend in the early 90's and the good one I let get away.

I didn't approach him, rather kept a heavy gaze until our eyes met. He absolutely could not believe it was me. Recapping the past few years, we spoke very closely, eyes locked intensely.

He told me an interesting story about when his then band, Inspector 7, was on tour in 2000 and played some little spot in the middle of Arizona. His bass player found out Fishbone was playing next door and they all walked over. Turns out, the doorman was an I7 fan and let them in the back. Travis found Angelo and as they were talking, Angelo asks, "You look really familiar, how do I know you?" Travis' reply, "Marietta." Angelo freaked out. Ah, to be a fly on the wall for the rest of that conversation. But it's fantastic two yummy men in the desert connected through my name. Love it!

Along those lines, he also disclosed that I was pivotal in his life.


Also stories of Marietta are still spun among his circle of friends. And his wife has probably heard my name a thousand time.

Your wife? Wah-wah.

Anyway, only having a few minutes before performing, he asked for my phone number. Said he wanted more details on the past few years. Naturally, that's when his wife walked up......"You're Marietta? I've heard a lot about you." Oh bejesus, talk about awkward. Did your husband also tell you how he introduced me to handcuffs and blindfolds?

Again, Travis insisted we meet for a drink sometime this week. He threw out a few days, seemed like Monday worked best. Needless to say, he didn't call. If I were his wife, I wouldn't leave him alone with me either -especially with alcohol involved.

Friday, July 23

It's my sister's thirtieth birthday tomorrow! Let's all give her a big cheer. Altogether, ready? 1-2-3.....


Now point and laugh because she's old.

*Even though I'm older, I still think it's hilarious.

A hangover is not conducive to office Family Day.

The scavenger hunt has warped my fragile little mind...

KellyGirl and I had dinner with her newlywed friends last night (Nick and Jessica are fine and thank you for your concern). On the way out, I'm at the bar waiting for KellyGirl and this thick-accented Irish guy starts talking to me. Normal chit-chat, KGirl comes up, and suddenly the conversation shifts to whether or not she can handle herself in bed (?!). Just as confused, she asks me, "Ummmm, we ready to go?" And homeboy says, "No! Ladies, I thought the three of us were going to roll around in bed together," totally not kidding.

Um, guy, if that were even remotely possible, you really should buy us drinks first. Seriously- what's this world coming to? I'm easy, but not that easy- Jeebus!

Thursday, July 22

You've changed, man. It used to be about the music...

"No one makes films about slapping women anymore"

-Guy Ritchie

Classy. Highlighted in this week's edition of The Onion's Commentary Tracks of the Damned.

Partially thanks to your column I have found a woman who indulges me in my fetish: pegging. Apart from occasional santorum, she doesn't seem to mind. However, she has the nagging fear that I am secretly gay. When we engage in pegging, half of the thrill is that it feels really good, and the other half is the wonderful thought that a woman is doing this to me, which is naughty and cool and otherwise freaky and fun. Nowhere beyond the fake plastic penis is a man involved. For her benefit, since I know she reads your column, could you explain that this doesn't make me gay?

Help Me Out

Sorry, HMO, but I've changed my mind. Any straight man who would let a woman do him in the ass has to be secretly gay. You're a fag, HMO, just admit it already.

Well, there you have it. According to Dan Savage, my ex is a big homo.

Greasing a few palms
Durex has been appointed official supplier of condoms and lubricants for the Olympic Games in Athens, Greece, this year.

The donation of 130 000 condoms and 30 000 tubes of lubricant will cost the company R600 000, says Jo Giles of Durex, and it promises to give athletes' performance in the bedroom a boost.

Oh no, not Durex* !! Wouldn't Trojans be more fitting?

*If my experience with this shoddy product gives an indication, expect a surge of births around April.

Wednesday, July 21

Embracing your ethnic background is something I feel strongly about- especially for Americans. Most people I know grew up in a household of grandparents speaking broken English and an ingrained belief that we (children) are different regardless of native status. Which varies vastly from a person in say, Hungary. You were born there, that's the language you speak- you're Hungarian. Very cut and dry. In a nation of ancestral immigrants, especially in the NY metro area, few have that luxury.

That being said, the other day a girl walked past me with a shirt that read, "I ♥ Being Black." And I thought it would be akin to me sporting an "I ♥ Having a Clit," tee. It seemed the wording warranted congratulations for coming to terms with something you can't change.

Tuesday, July 20

Courtesy of The Black Heart's Party, I bring you the first annual Extreme Scavenger Hunt photos complete with judging party photos and each team's pictures. To whet your appetite, here are my faves from each:

Chocolate Pants' naked on NYC street:

Freedom and the Fannypack's team member's head up civilian's skirt:

Smack-a-Bitch's winning photo for most interesting decoration of a team member's face using french fries and ketchup:

The Lindsay Lohans' winner for best aluminum foil couture:

Foxy Moron's entry for two team members in their underwear, up a tree in Central Park, drinking a diet vanilla Pepsi (18 in. fish= 20 bonus points):

On the right is Barrett Foa who will be starring in Avenue Q for two weeks in August.

Team Squiki's entry for best unplanned photo:

My team won this catagory but I thought theirs is quite comical. NYC is fucking bananas.

And finally my team, Exit 9, making out with Freedom and the Fannypacks (bonus for being naked wrapped in plastic):

And SOMEONE will earn photo credit when he can get the entire team in the shot. Check out F&FP's pix for the complete image.

You can see my new tattoo (for which I received an honorable mention accompanied by a killerly sweet Duff clock) but please ignore the fact that I look like I just popped a quaalude. And if I do say so myself, I love my composition on the two team members simultaneously biting into a Big Mac in the cereal aisle of a supermarket picture.

Good times.

Monday, July 19

Extreme Scavenger Hunt photos will be up on the website tomorrow.  Here's a sneak preview of my team's human pyramid on moving subway car:

Not as easy as it looks.

Part I  Part II

Friday, July 16

Alright so, my gals at work and I have an Irish pub we frequent at lunch, right?  Quality food, quality booze- ya know.  The past two visits, I'd swear the food came by way of mule it took such a long goddamn time.  Seriously paying the check and shoving burgers down our gullet simultaneously cause we only have an hour to eat.
Anyway, we gave it another try today.  Same shit happened (and we vowed never to go there again).  Half an hour goes by -after ordering- the waitress comes over, "Your food will be right out."  Another fifteen minutes, she's at the table again, "Your food is coming...."
"So's Christmas," my co-worker quipped.
She didn't say a word, turned around and walked away.  Through our laughter, I expressed that the remark sealed our fate to a loogie sandwich.  Even still, I love a smart-ass.

Iggy Pop and Mick Jagger's love child discovered....
About a month ago, I saw the Velvet Revolver video for the first time.  And I thought, "Good for those guys, still making music (I enjoyed a bit of G-n-R back in the day).  And that lead singer is the perfect rock-n-roll front man: super skinny,  jet black hair, eyeliner, shirtless with tight silver pants, tattoos- what more could ya want?  Where the fuck did they find this guy?"
So the following Saturday, Best Week Ever comes on (hilarious show btw, highly recommended) and VR is one of the topics.  One of the commentators mocks, "Hmmmm, who can we get that's more reliable than Axel?  How 'bout that guy from Stone Temple Pilots?"
Immediately, I was floored. 
Yesterday when I walked in the door, Jay was watching the video.  I asked him if he could even believe that is Scott Weiland....  He's equally as stunned, "If he changed his name on the album, I never would have known.  He looks and sounds totally different.  And what's up with him dancing around like a girl?"  I concurred.
If you haven't seen it already, keep an eye out- I believe it's still in the VH1 countdown.  Trust, you'll be blown away.

Here's a wonderful blog that posts break-ups in the style of engagement announcements.  One of today's gems includes:

When aspiring New York actor Nicholas Carriere, 24, lobbed a dictionary at Justin Budrow, 23, Budrow announced that their five month tryst was "so totally over." "I was only trying to help him out. His grammar, like, totally sucked," said Carriere. "I just refuse to deal with split infinitives in bed."
Check out Breakup News  for more hilarity!

Thursday, July 15


No. 5 Orange Showroom

How I miss thee.

Because of flash floods throughout NJ yesterday, my bus driver decided to take the scenic route home (through Weehawken, Hoboken, Pulaski Skyway, down Rt. 1). And I got aggravated because it made the trip over two hours. That wouldn't have bothered me, since I usually cop a snooze, except the two chicks in front of me wouldn't shut their big yappers. Even more annoying is the fact that they sounded like the girls from "Baby Got Back" Oh My God, Becky, did you see her butt? And they were talking the most frivolous nonsense that made my brain melt (Had it not been for that horse, I never would have made it through college). The entire ordeal made me think about that Jeanane Garofalo bit about how Hell will be what's in your mind's eye. This would be my Hell: Packed bus, bumper-to-bumper traffic down the Turnpike, Sir Mix-a-Lot twins in front of me, Baby Momma yelling at her two year old to the left, Ghetto Bitch pushing my seat up, and overpowering B.O. dog-shit-for-toothpaste guy next to me, who's coughing the entire time.

But a call from my darling Steven made the trip infinitely more enjoyable.

Boozer Britney
But her latest stunt may be her most disturbing: drinking what appears to be booze on a public sidewalk in broad daylight.

These idiots never seen a bottle of ginseng before? They're probably the same jerk-offs that call to verify our address as 2 World Trade (yes, it's still happening).

Happy St. Swithins Day!

St. Swithin's day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St. Swithin's day if thou be fair
For forty days 'twill rain nae mair.

Apparently, Swithins ghost wanted to punish the monks of Winchester for exhuming his grave from under the "sweet rain from heaven" and moving his remains inside the basilica.

Damn Limey Monks. Ruiners!

Ha-Ha! Stupid right-wing..

President Bush failed to pass his Constitutional amendment denying marriage equality to same-sex couples. The amendment failed resoundingly in a Senate vote this afternoon, with just 48 votes in favor and 50 against.

Even if he lost the vote, Bush was hoping to use it to rally his base. But six Republican Senators voted against it. The Washington Post says: "The vote by the Republican-controlled Senate amounted to an embarrassing defeat for President Bush and conservative leaders who had pushed hard for approval of the amendment..."

Wednesday, July 14

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo...
OTTAWA (CP) - Some patients are spurning a new batch of government-certified marijuana, dismissing Health Canada claims that it's a stronger, better quality smoke.

"It's no good," Marco Renda, 45, said Monday from his home in Dundalk, Ont. "I took two puffs and I put it out. It had a chemical taste to it. It didn't taste right to me and it didn't burn properly."

Users complained the first batch last summer was too dry and powdery.

What next? The nurse didn't lick counter clockwise during the province-sanctioned sponge bath rim job?

To instantaneously dismiss Ridge's request to implement a contingency plan is ludicrous. I believe the backlash will result in an even fewer voter turn-out. And you can tout the "then the terrorists will win" rhetoric all you want, it won't assuage the shock and horror of September 11th or fear of reprisal.

A little whine with breakfast...

Why the hell are air-conditioners everywhere still at full blast? It's not even 70 degrees out right now. I'm wearing a sweater, for fuck's sake! The woman next to me on the bus had a BLANKET wrapped around her. So far, I've drank two cups of coffee and put a scarf across my lap yet my nose still feels like an icicle.

Is some kind of demented plot to keep women's nipples hard? Tell the truth...

Tuesday, July 13

ESH part II

Alright, so our "Best Unplanned Photo" happened at the Times Square PD when a guy walked past us with the A&F shirt:

Jewels grabs him, we set up the picture in front of the gigantic letters, "NYPD" and she whips her shirt off. The photo is fantastic- the guy has a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

The next stop, wonderfully planned by Nancy, brought us to a wholesale bridal shop. It was mayhem, so they didn't notice four of us run into the dressing room. Mission accomplished- relatively more easily than first suspected. On the way downtown, Jewels, Nancy and I were discussing the gowns, how pretty they were and how moderately priced- even if you had to bring it to a tailor. Ken chimes in, "You know, those things are like kryptonite for you women. Ten minutes ago, you were flashing Times Square and now you're ready to settle down because you found a dress. Eh, he seems nice enough...."

The whole day was a goddamn riot. Especially when Freedom and the Fannypacks showed up to make out with us. It's amazing how quickly you get over the insecurity of being naked wrapped in plastic in front of total strangers. Maybe because we all had our tongues down each other's throats.

What an opposite experience of showing my tattoo to co-workers than to everyone at the judging party. It's nice to be in a room full of smart, creative types so you don't have to explain yourself. Except for the guy that asked if it was the mask that Arnold Schwarzenegger wore in Total Recall. Erik did an amazing job of capturing her face perfectly with a subtle touch of gray shading. For the judges, I displayed this picture next to my tattoo to show the quality of his work. I explained that he asked if I wanted a red box around her head- and I said no, I wanted the background more ethereal. And the cutie blonde judge said, "Cause she's the biggest star of them all..."

And lastly, I'd be remiss if I didn't write about this. Okay, so when we got back to the loft for the judging, there were a few faces I didn't see at the start of the day. I figured they were team photographers, judges or friends of the owner. And there's this one guy- kinda nerdy looking, shaggy dark hair, thick glasses, black polo shirt- nothing out of the ordinary realm of geekdom.. until you get to the southern hemisphere. He wore silver spandex biker shorts with what appeared to be a cucumber stuffed down one side. And every once in a while he'd adjust himself and I thought he couldn't be for real since all day long we all were dressed up in some way or another. Later, he was on the fire escape when I stepped out to have a smoke. And everything he said, I remember thinking to myself, "Huh?" -he's just trying way too hard.

Afterwards, during a very late dinner with team Chocolate Pants, I discover that guy claims to be the illegitimate son of John Holms. Apparently he's been on Howard Stern, article in Rolling Stone and a movie or book is being (unsuccessfully) made about him. Allegedly, he went there to pick up chicks. Which proves that you need more than a 14-inch cock to get laid.

Monday, July 12

Oh, Brian. I'd known him for less than 24 hours when watching him try to dye his pubes blue. A few hours before he'd seen me topless and soon after the unsuccessful tinting, we were naked outfitting each other in red saran wrap. Now that's comfort!

While it shouldn't have surprised me with this crowd, it's amazing to see just how many people were willing to get naked in the name of fun. These are my type of people.

Since Brian chronicled the day quite eloquently, I will highlight my favorite moments.

The Lindsay Lohans emerged from their rented SUV in wonderful disguises (full length beard & stash, mullet wigs, short shorts) which made their stretching on the sidewalk all the more hilarious.

We bullshitted our way into getting most of these pictures, like telling a cop on 44th Street it's for charity, then walking over to Times Square with a hand-made sign that said, "You're a Cunt!" (which was taken next to a guy shouting Bible verses). But my favorite lie had to be when Jewels told the gals at Mickey D's that Brian was from the Netherlands and never had a Big Mac before (while he spoke the only Dutch phrase he knew, "The better to eat you with."). The actually let him behind the counter for a photo op. Glorious.

The judges awarded us extra points for the Gap bag prominently featured in our all in one stall with Brian's head in the toilet at the men's room Marriot Marquis photo.

The seven-year-old kid who instantly hit puberty because he just happened to be walking by with his father as I pulled my top down in the police van was quite comical as well.

In Toys-R-Us, we got our all-five-team-members-shaking-hands-with-five-different-children-in-one-photo photo. The judges gave us extra points cause the mom's sausage arms holding the video camera was captured in the bottom of the frame.

On the way out, I spotted "Gayest Child." He was brooding up against a column. Couldn't have been older than twelve, wearing a yellow Hilfiger polo shirt, collar up. Bleach blonde hair, woven choker with shells, baseball cap, cargo pants and Clarks completed the outfit. He was a NAMBLA fantasy come true. We lost to a more flamboyant child doing jazz hands. Oh well- it was a calculated risk.

During my tattoo, some frat boy came in with his blondie blonde girlfriend and started flipping through the books. My artist, Erik, asked if they needed any help. "What can I get for $30?" "A size 11 up your ass," Erik replied. Love it! Shameless plug: All of the artist at Triple X Tattoo do quality work, reasonably priced. Check them out if you're considering getting some ink. I couldn't be happier with mine.

Part II to come...

Jeebus, what a weekend. Had I thought ahead, I'd still be in bed right now...

Though I'd originally planned to stay for an hour (to get home and dye my brother's hair for the scavenger hunt), no way could I leave such a good time. Ken called it: Daniella and I would immediately hit it off. She seems to be of the same caliber of crazy as me and absolutely adorable. Okay, so this bar is dark...with only red lighting. Coming in from daylight, it fucks your vision up. Since the sun was setting, every time someone entered, a ray streamed in causing patrons to turn away in horror like vampires. At some point the door flies open and in walks a leggy, blonde goddess. I wishfully thought to myself, "Well, there's my date." As my vision re-adjusted, I realized she was indeed Kambri. Man, that chick's one high stepper.

I also met other witty and darling ladies, Petit Bioux, Ari, Smitten, and A Picture of Me and regaled them with tales of Ken and croutons. I know I met more but the bartender started pouring free shots after I showed him my left nipple, so my memory is a little fuzzy after that point. However, I do remember making out with him over the bar before I left...

Whenever a group of women were around Mike and Ken approached, one by one the women would disappear. Mike, therefore, dubbed him the "anti-wingman."

This pizan caught me adjusting my blouse and told me to take it easy. Later, he approached me with questions about device ownership. He made a bet that on a scale of one to freaky, I was an 8 or 9. I did admit to having a whip but said that leather zipper masks and gag balls is where I draw the line. The delightful Miss Stephanie snapped this picture of us:

The need for lipstick re-application aside, I think it's a pretty cute picture.

And then there's Brian.... Lots more on him later.

Friday, July 9

Went to the Extreme Scavenger Hunt (website with pictures to come) meeting last night to finalize the rules and object list. Apparently, there's already some drama stirring between teams- conspiracies to keep a particular team from winning- scandal! I'm just looking to laugh: already made my tattoo appointment, going to bleach my brother's hair out in prep for blue dye tomorrow (80 points!), found a diet vanilla Pepsi and am messengering a soliloquy to my cousin to write on her body. I've had three other team members back down for one reason or another so if anyone's crazy enough to get naked on the streets of NYC and have tomorrow free, drop me a line before 5pm (upper left: Chala!) and I'll send you the particulars.

But in the meantime, I'll be here tonight:

Care to join us?

Thursday, July 8

Well, our phones are down today. Which means there will be sporadic computer access also, which for some reason makes me feel ineffectual. I'll utilize the down time writing interview questions for my book.

So check this out- there was some ghetto bitch sitting infront of me on the bus, right? And she had her daughter, Unique, on her lap. The little girl wanted to get up and run around. "No," said the mother. Then came the typical two-year-old response, "Why?" "Cause I said so," her voice conveyed annoyance. Again, "Why?" and she screamed, "BECAUSE THE BUS IS CROWDED, DANG! I'M TIRED OF ALWAYS HAVING TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO A TWO-YEAR-OLD!!!!"

Yeah, she's not doing anything to keep that kid off the pole.

Wednesday, July 7

I'm fascinated and repulsed at the same time:
A female cadaver in the eighth month of pregnancy is perserved through a process called "plastination" and displayed at the California Science Center Wednesday, June 30, 2004, in Los Angeles. Gunther von Hagens' "Body Worlds: The Anatomical Exhibition of Real Human Bodies," opens Friday.

Stupid LA...What have they done? Nothin' for nobody!

While at my girlfriend's house over the weekend, she mentioned that she thinks saw an engagement announcement in the Suburban of an old boyfriend of mine. Quickly, I rummaged through her stack of newspapers to confirm her suspicion. It was him, alright. My mind flooded with his memory....

In high school, my locker was in the auto-shop hallway. One day, a vision in flannel and tight, black acid-washed jeans sauntered by..... Slybone. He had the hottest body going and I fell instantly in love. We had mutual friends, so I muscled my way into the burnout crowd. After doing the usual, "Find out if he likes anyone...mention my name," game, I found out he didn't want a piece of this.

So I gots me a boyfriend from the playfag clique who was wicked smaat. And things were great until somebody had a toga party, to which everyone was invited. Since my boyfriend was more interested in watching Faces of Death than hanging with me, I wandered off to the beer supply. And there he was so we started talking. There must be something about a chick wrapped in a sheet cause the next thing I know, we're locking ourselves in an upstairs bedroom. The next day, I broke up with my boyfriend to be with Sly.

For a month, all we did was drive around, get stoned, listen to Led Zeppelin and have sex. Not necessarily in that order and sometimes all at once. One time, his mother came home early from work and caught us mid-coitus. Needless to say, I was not allowed back in the house. But whatever, that's what backseats are for.

But it got old real quick cause he was as sharp as a wet noodle. Not that we did a whole hell of a lot of talking but thirty days is my limit on finding subjects he could relate to for in-between session chatter. Besides, a little birdie told me my ex was still pinin' for the fjords.

A big group of us had planned a camping trip, so I figured I'd use it to feel out my ex (not literally). Told Sly I'd see him on Monday and off we went. With one disaster after another, it wound up being the camping trip from hell (but that's a whole nother story). And just when the ex and I are getting along, Sly shows up unexpectedly. Apparently, the rangers at the Delaware Water Gap will give up your name and lot number to any John Q. Public that shows up. I was pissed off and my ex spent the rest of the night getting wasted.

Sly and I sat by the fire and he told me, "I knew one of two things would happen if I came up here: either we'd break up or I'd fall in love with you. And I'm in love with you." And I was like, "Yeah, we gotta break up." He spent the rest of the night getting wasted.

Twelve years lapsed until I saw him again. He walked onto an uptown N train I happened to be seated in and let me tell you, he needed to be returned to the library cause he had FINE stamped all over him! It looked as if he grew a few inches, so his body appeared more svelte yet still very muscular. OhMiGawd, I just died! So delicious. Naturally, I had to talk to him. He seemed happy to see me so I figured, 'What the hell?' and slipped him my phone number before hopping off the train, in vain hopes he'd forgotten how I broke his heart a decade earlier.... No such luck.

UPDATE: Another high school buddy gave me her two cents on the subject: Give it a year then go in for the kill. Marriage= Celibacy

Tuesday, July 6

Chance Encounter
but it quickly became apparent that i was not recognized. i think it was my new glasses. people haven't been recognizing me a lot since i've gotten them. i hereby rescind my criticism of superman's clark kent disguise.

Christian Finnegan, lover for hire and commentator extraordinaire, has written a brilliant post about "Rejected Titles for the next Harry Potter Novel." Here are my faves culled from that list and the comments:
Harry Potter and the Conspicuous Cold Sore

Harry Potter and the Order of Shrimp Lo Mein

Harry Potter and the Low Fixed Rate Morgage

Welcome Back Potter

Harry Potter and the Furious Five

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Commerce

Harry Potter and the $2 Whore

I need another day off to recoup from all the fun I had this weekend- yea-ah! Went to my cousin's Brooklyn pad for a delicious dinner and drunken Extreme Scavenger Hunt strategizing Friday night.

With only a few hours of sleep under my belt and a raging hang-over, I set out on what turned into a 17 hour road trip through our lovely neighbors to the West, Pennsylvania. First stop: Kutztown German Festival, which had a disapointing lack of beer for a Krautfest (a little hair of the dog always helps). But they weren't hurting for crafts, including a broom maker for fuck's sake. I did, however, pick up a stylie pennant made from a lira. There were so many different countries- the Japanese ones were hot- but I decided to go a symbol of my heritage. There was a woodworker who made these terrific mallets (cheap: $7) that I was going to pick up for my brother, but then thought better of it. If he got drunk and killed someone with it, I couldn't help but feel partly responsible. K-Dawg and I had filled up on meat and cheese before getting to the festival (it was an unexpected detour) so we really didn't partake in the festival eats which included an entire ox roasting on a spit. Smelled awesome, though.

We continued to Hershey to visit Chocolate World . It was educational and delicious.

Onto historical Gettysburg where we visited the highwater mark battlefield. It's impossible to realize the scope of the casualties until you see the vastness of the land. It must have been horrific. Trying to shake off the eeriness of that experience, Ken and I went into town for a little dinner and $2 pints. He tried to convince me to take a haunted tour but seeing kids with mullets in Confederate hats was enough terror for one day.

Sunday was all about lounging in the pool, watching fireworks, barbeque and campy 70's pornography. God bless America.

Friday, July 2

Great Scott! Why is the phone still ringing? I thought you lawyers scooted outta town early every chance you got. I wanted to wind down the clock in peace- but noooooooo..... Seriously, those apostilles can wait til Tuesday.

Whatever happened to Aimee Mann, anyway?

Tomorrow, K-Dawg and I are getting in his car and driving West. That's all I know so far.

Rest in peace, Wild One.

I remember reading an interview after the Island of Dr. Moreau where they asked him about Val Kilmer's performance and he said, "The boy confuses ability with talent."

My brother and I had a three hour Galaga marathon last night. He mopped the fuckin floor with me, by the way. Damn kids.

Anyway, I made some Pina Coladas and we discussed the nuances of commuter etiquette, since he takes the train to Newark now. Like how lame it is when someone sits next to the aisle on a three seater, knowing people are too timid to ask them to move.

Last night a guy had a back-pack on a cart and was taking up three seats (in the back of the bus) and when asked to move in, he refused stating there wouldn't be enough room for his luggage. So the other guy, who looked like a Hell's Angel, shouted, "Look, I'll shove that fucking cart up your ass!" Heh-heh. The guy sucked it up and moved over. As I put my headphones on, I heard a tense back and forth consisting of the phrase, "Go shit and die."

Thursday, July 1

Whadda ya kiddin me, dawg?
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): The astrological omens are telling me you need a vacation from media babble. That's probably the only way you'll be able to tune in to the crucial messages that are being sent out by the still, small voice within you. Do you have the willpower to carry out this heroic discipline? I dare you to unplug your TV and keep your radios turned off. Avoid films. Don't even open up a newspaper or magazine. It would also be great if you'd boycott computers. But if that's impossible-- if you have to stare at a computer screen for the sake of your work -- then check your email just once a day and don't surf the Web aimlessly. Create a silence that's deep enough for the still, small voice to be heard.

Just tear out my heart, why dontcha? Jesus, that's not discipline, that's punishment! Then again, if I shuffle off to Buffalo this weekend- it could be accomplished.