byte me

Dear Tech Guy at Work Who Goes from Zero to Snotty in Seconds Flat:

Kindly get laid.

Thank you in advance,
Curly McDimple

does she walk? does she talk?

I attended an 80s-themed Halloween party on Friday night. 'Twas fabulous! J.R. Ewing, The Greatest American Hero and a Rubik's Cube were among the icons in attendance. The Younger Sister wore a black dress, pulled her hair into a tight bun, slapped on some bright red lipstick and dark eye shadow, strapped on a guitar and voila! Instant Robert Palmer Girl. She looked excellent.

Originally I wanted to go as V.I.C.I., the girl robot from Small Wonder but the search for a dress was fruitless so I scuttled the plan. I also considered being Webster briefly and then decided against it on account of my being tall, female and you know, white.

With time running out, I did a quick mental inventory of my clothes and accessories and then inspiration hit... Dieter from Sprockets! I already had the black clothes so all I needed was a pair of wire-framed glasses, some gunk to slick my curls into wet-looking submission and a picture of a monkey (so's that I could ask everyone if they wanted to touch it).

It was a really easy costume to assemble. A quick search on Google images took care of the monkey. Then I bought cheap wire-framed sunglasses and took a hammer to the lenses. You know, this is the second year in a row where my costume required a bit of demolition. Breaking shit on purpose is fun. I highly recommend it.

For the hair, I decided on L'Oréal's Absolute Wet Gel because it promised "Wet Shine with No Greasiness." It wasn't greasy, I'll give them that, but as the night wore on and my hair dried, there was a whole lot of clumping going on. The end result: Rather scary straight-looking dreads. Not a good look on a pale Irish chick, FYI.

It's partly my fault that the hair got a bit unruly because, well, if a song like "Rio" by Duran Duran is played in my presence, I WILL toss my hair around as I dance and thrash about. Sometimes I even stand on furniture and do a damn fine impression -- if I do say so myself -- of Molly Ringwald getting down in The Breakfast Club.

I'm not going to lie to you... if 80s music is played in a public setting, more often than not, I attract attention. Like, people form a ring around me on the dance floor, chant my name and make me promise to hang out with them and stuff. Oh, the ego I have as a result! I'm a bit particular about what songs I'll dance to though (and the people I actually hang with, of course). For example, I tend to sit out the likes of Toto and Quarterflash, but if "Just Like Heaven" or "Bizarre Love Triangle" or something similar comes on... get da fuck out my way as I've got some Molly-like moves to bust, yo.

While I was wiggling it (just a little bit) to "Rio" on Friday night, I was bestowed with the honor of wearing the most popular costume of the night -- the Rubik's Cube. The owner, my younger sister's best friend, slid it over my head and BAM! I felt instantly transformed. That thing was like fucking Frosty the Snowman's magic hat.

I was dressed like Dieter wearing a Rubik's Cube, which was quite ridiculous, but I got in character and worked it, clumpy white-girl dreads and all. I mean, I didn't just embrace the absurdity of the moment, I felt it up, French-kissed and then fucked it for good measure.

The pièce de résistance? Yes, that would have to be my, I mean Dieter's interpretive dance to "Centerfold" by The J. Geils Band.

Oh yes, I'm quite serious. It was inspired. Several party-goers even professed their love for me afterwards.

I'm totally wearing that costume on my next date.

Happy Halloween, everyone!!

naughty girls need [hot lesbo] love too

Why, it was just yesterday that I was telling The Lovely Jess that I wasn't the least bit surprised when WNBA star, Sheryl Swoopes came out as a big ol' lesbo. As I recall, I said, "That was about as surprising as George Michael admitting he liked to play the skin flute." FYI, I support Sheryl and George fully and I welcome them with open arms but their admissions didn't raise my painstakingly-shaped eyebrows is what I'm really trying to say.

Anyhoo, I went on to tell Jess that only a few people have made me gasp in surprise and disbelief when they came out o' da closet. For example, the news about Portia de Rossi had me reaching for my inhaler whereas George Takei's recent revelation didn't alter my peak flow meter readings in the slightest.

But today I gasped. Dudes, Samantha Fox likes beaver! I need to process this. She was like the epitome of trashy, slutty heterosexuality and I'm stunned (and just a little bit delighted) by this information. Further analysis to come.

shameless plugs

If you'll indulge moi, I'd like to shill for a few friends. Check 'em out or you will feel the wrath of the pimp hand...

:: First up, Michael P! I adore this boy to no end. Last night, The Lovely Jess and I went to his band, Shark Hat, play at B.B. King and they totally tore it up. I was so proud of them. I've seen the band play in smaller venues before and have always been impressed but last night they truly kicked ass. The room was totally buzzing after their set. Congratulations on a successful show, boys! Do me a fave and throw a few hot groupies my way, would ya?

:: Christina, she of the subway fable and the ill-behaved kitties, just started her own blog. She's only got two posts up so far but you can lay claim to the fact that you were an early reader when her site takes off. And it will.

Lastly, Sharon McNight's NYC engagement ends this weekend. Get thee to The Duplex, STAT!

Thank you,
Curly

a banner day

Um, I just met Jane Goodall. JANE GOODALL!!! My friend knows her so I was introduced to her and she shook my hand and everything. She's lovely! Go buy her new book!

Oh and someone just found my site by searching for "CUTE BUM" (their use of shouting caps, not mine).

Life is good.

wax on, wax hoff

Won't you do a good deed and help The Hoff remove his unsightly chest hair? Click here to do so. You simply place the waxing strip on The Hoff's pecs, press down and rip off that motherfucking hair but good.

Despite its hypnotic coils and intoxicating formation, you know the hair bothers you. So now's your chance to rid the world of this scourge. Get to ripping!

Sadly, a cure for the Speedo and the ill effects of listening to The Hoff's "music" have not yet been found.

Credits: Thanks to Mejack for the link who got it from The Roommate of The Lovely Jess. The Hasselhoff Recursion comes from Geriatric Punks.

Want some mo' Hoff?

:: Boobwatch, Indeed
:: Irish Cheddar... and a Little Something for the Germans
:: The Hoff Super Fantastic Activity Fun Book
:: May the Hoff Rise up to Meet You
:: Season's Greetings from Curly and The Hoff
:: Soap from a Dope
:: A Wee Bit o' Schmaltz

to the doubts that complicate your mind...

Okay, so Pat Benatar is on my iTunes right now and I'm finding it REALLY hard not to sing along. I'm honestly biting my lip. What's holding me back? Certainly not concern for my coworkers or anything of the sort. It's actually more of a self-esteem issue.

See, the chorus of "We Belong" is way high and when I try to keep pace, my voice sounds something akin to Mariah Carey's pitchiest, squealiest note if girlfriend was rocking a trach. It's quite mortifying. Methinks I'm going to skip forward to "Shadows of the Night" to restore my confidence. I have to say that I particularly kick ass during the "Midnight angel, won't you say you will" part.

I seriously need to tackle Pat next time I go to karaoke. I might even do "Invincible" so that I can be all cool and assume a well-timed "Fair is fair!" pose. Dude, The Legend of Billie Jean kicks my ass and I'm not ashamed to admit it. When TBS airs it on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, I'm all over that shit. Sometimes I even do a happy clap and say, "Oh, goodie!" as I plop down on the couch to watch.

Um, have I said too much?

betty, bette, betty

I had the pleasure of seeing the incomparable Sharon McNight perform Betty Bette Betty: The Music of Grable, Hutton and Davis at The Duplex last night. In a word, fan-fucking-tastic! Her engagement ends on October 29 so act fast! Go now! I mean it!

I assure you the show is thoroughly enjoyable and Ms. McNight is a total hoot. We have mutual friends in common so we all had drinks and din-din after the show. Sharon kept us rapt in attention with her tales of old Hollywood, the cabaret scene and its backstage shenanigans. I hung on her every word. That woman is as entertaining off stage as she is on. And dude, she's a like Tony nominee (Starmites) and stuff. 'Twas pure bliss for a theater geek like myself.

If you can't catch her NYC show, Sharon makes the rounds across the country so check out her website for upcoming performances. If you go, tell her Curly sent ya.

and sows a bird in her knickers

Last night was my birthday party! I'm not terribly hungover today because I paced myself all night long. After several Hefeweizens and a SoCo Lime shot, I was no worse for the wear. Today, however, I'm dehydrated, rocking a caffeine headache and a have a voice like Selma Diamond. (Night Court, anyone?) I'm still not technically hungover because I wake up most days dehydrated with a caffeine headache and a voice like Selma Diamond. Par for the course, you see.

Before I go gorge myself on an entire Brita pitcher and get to percolating some coffee, I just wanted to thank you all again for the birthday wishes and emails. I was feeling a little crummy the past couple of weeks but this week... not so much. Several people last night thought I was rip-roaring drunk because I was so smiley and gawd, even giddy at times. I was not drunk though... just really happy. Thanks to each and every one of you!

Thanks to all of my friends who came to mah pah-tay last night. My best birthday present was seeing separate groups of friends mingling and hitting it off, exchanging phone numbers and making plans for future brunches, dinners and trips to Cattyshack. Awesome. FYI, would-be-wise guys, I'm in on the plans too so ex-nay on the jokes suggesting otherwise.

My other favorite presents were a birthday card from the Brand-New Nephew (I know he didn't write it out but whatever, it's cute and has a bear on it and it just makes me smile. Shut up!) and a charming rendition of "Happy Birthday" sung into my answering machine by The Adorable Five-Year-Old Niece. Coincidentally, she opted for the same lyrics as The Lovely Jess in which I look and smell like a monkey. To that I say, monkeys are cute so I'll take the compliment. I don't know if I've ever really smelled a monkey so I'll reserve judgment on the odor. But I don't think their tendency to fling dung is necessarily a bad thing. In fact, I might start doing that when people piss me off or get too close to my feet.

Thank you again, everyone, for a really special birthday!

Love,
Curly

guess what today is?

Update: I just received my first birthday present of the day. Oh and it's a dandy!! A big THANK YOU to the man who picked his wedge right in my face this morning.

My birthday wish for you, kind sir, is that your undies continue to ride up throughout the day so that you can share that spectacle with other unsuspecting subway riders and coworkers. Cheers!

the sweet sound of victory

The flusher thing on my toilet has been broken for the past two weeks or so. Every time I've tinkled or poohed, I've had to move the lid on the tank, fish around in there and lift that circular thing at the very bottom to make the toilet flush.

Not fun.

I called the management office several times and left messages reporting the problem. I even saw the office manager in Key Food and told her in detail what was wrong with my can. I was promised it would be fixed right away.

It wasn't.

I followed up and was given a song and dance about their busy workload but once again solemnly promised my potty would be fixed right away.

It wasn't.

My patience was wearing thin. But, as much as it sucks, I've learned in my years of renting that it's not wise to piss off the management office. And I quite like my super and the chick who answers his phone. After all, they did come through during The Great M-o-u-s-e Trauma of 2005. I need them on my side should I need help offing/disposing of any critters again in the future. Oooh, a chill just went down my spine at the thought.

I'm grateful for their past help and understand that they're busy but well, tough shit. I pay good money to live in this ridiculous-sized apartment and my hand should not be swishing around in a toilet tank every time I tinkle or pooh. Call me highfalutin but I just don't care for that little exercise. And that water is cold yo!

So I formulated a plan. I called the office this morning and even though I was pissed, I chose my words very carefully. I gently reminded the manager once again of my toilet troubles. After hearing yet another apology and detailed rundown of their heavy workload, I put on my best Pollyanna voice and said: "Hey, since you guys are so busy, do you want me to just call a plumber? Then I'll send The Landlord the bill or I'll just deduct it from next month's re--."

The office manager cut me off. "Oh no no no NOOOOOOOOOO! That's okay. He'll be there today to fix it. You have my word."

And this time I truly believed her. Know why? Because I played the "I'm Telling The Landlord on You" card. I don't use it often but when I do bust it out, I see instant results. The Landlord is a nice old Jewish man who lives out on Long Island. He likes me a lot and would not be happy to hear about my precious hand going in the toilet every time I tinkled and poohed.

You see, I have a princess act down pat with him. I developed it a couple of years ago. After my reports of mice in the wall went unheeded by the super, I called up the Landlord and acted hysterical and told him he had "enormous rats in [his] nice building." I knew they weren't rats but I played up the irrational angle in order to spark progress. He was a little condescending and told me to "calm down" and called me "young lady" several times but I didn't care. I knew exactly what I was doing. He bought my helpless act and dispatched the workers. Within five minutes, I heard hammers banging as every conceivable hole was boarded up. Futhermore, the exterminator was in the building the next day. No more squeaks and rustles after that... um, until The Great M-o-u-s-e Trauma of 2005, of course.

Tonight when I came home, I made a beeline for the toilet, reached out for the handle, pushed down and... FLUSH!!!!!!!!!!!!

I win.

all the small things, part 3

Once again picking up where I left off here and here.

21. I am the proud owner of a State Quarter collection. I'm missing Kansas and West Virginia. Anyone want to hook me up?

22. I always smell good, if I do say so myself. And I do. I credit my hair schmutz (Short Cuts Flip-Out) and my perfumes of choice (I alternate between The Body Shop White Musk Perfume Oil and The Body Shop Indian Gardenia Eau du Parfum). Truthfully, I'm not entirely sure that my hair schmutz isn't for men but it smells clean like soap and it works well in my hair so I don't give a fuck. Hell, I'd use Brylcreem and some Crisco if it held my curl.

23. I only pretend to like Joni Mitchell, Tom Waits and Lou Reed. I don't dislike them necessarily but I've given them each a whirl and well... I don't know what the big deal is.

24. Speaking of Lou Reed, Laurie Anderson scares me.

25. I make excellent popcorn. It's popped in a pot with a couple of drops of olive oil (cold-pressed extra-virgin preferably) and a dash of salt. Try mine and you'll never eat Pop Secret again.

26. I take great pleasure in marking email as spam and then emptying my spam folder and trash. Although, sometimes I have an itchy trigger finger on the delete button and I accidentally trash important stuff. I then curse myself and rue the day I showed no mercy on my in box and then curse myself further when I discover that useless things like old issues of Daily Candy are intact but the detailed request from my boss is long gone. It's uncanny.

27. My favorite cartoon is The Flintstones. I thought Barney was cute when I was little. And that Joe Rockhead was a bit of a hottie too, come to think of it.

28. I interned for Geraldo Rivera when I was in college. One of my responsibilities was greeting guests, bringing them to the green room and getting them coffee, etc. As a result, I met Alan Dershowitz, Denise Brown and a lot of politicians, legal experts and talking heads. Weirdest guest I ever met? That would have to be William Kunstler. Dude freaked me out with that Einstein hair of his and piercing stare. Oh and he gave me one of those creepy handshakes where he bent his middle finger and stuck his knuckle in the palm of my hand mid-shake. He was one spooky motherfucker.

29. My DVR is currently set to record every episode of Little House on the Prairie on TV Land.

30. That Nellie Oleson still chaps my ass.

Numbers 31-40 coming soon. I think. Maybe I'll just do 31-35. Don't rush me. This shit is hard work!

Numbers 1-10
Numbers 11-20
Numbers 31-40

it feels like years since it's been here

I went to the D.U.M.B.O. Art Under the Bridge Festival yesterday to soak up some culture as well as the sun.

It's rained for the past week so the sun was a rare and welcome sight. Not surprisingly, people happily took to the streets en masse to take advantage. It was so gorgeous outside. Perfect, even. The air was dry and smelled like fall. My allergies came roaring back to life but, no matter, it was a fair exchange for some sunshine.

Later in the day clouds rolled in but the sun broke free of the choke hold and managed to poke through...

Click here for more D.U.M.B.O. pictures.

all the small things, part 2

I'm picking up where I left off here...

11. I'm hesitant to shop at any business that attaches an "a-Rama" to the end of its name. That suffix makes me irrationally angry.

12. I don't drink milk. I'll put a drop of skim in my tea or mix it into a recipe but I won't pour myself a big honkin' glass of it. I'm wary of most dairy products but milk is the most loathsome.

My distrust stems from an incident in kindergarten. I used to drink white milk at snack time and was quite fine with it. But one day, the red-and-white carton with the cute picture of a cow on it was abruptly replaced by an updated model. I was instantly leery of this switcheroo. I picked up the carton and examined it. Mind you, I was 5 and couldn't read yet so I based my opinion of the product solely on the picture emblazoned on the container. There was no cow on this carton. Instead, I saw a frog.

My thought process was as follows: What's a frog doing on my milk? Hmm... the old carton had a picture of a cow, therefore the milk came from a cow. This carton has a frog on it therefore, the milk comes from... A FROG?!?! Ew! Frogs cause warts! And they eat flies and live in slimy ponds! Ew! I'm not drinking this!

I was totally grossed out. I refused to drink the milk. When my mother came to pick me up, my teacher took us aside and told my mother about my milk strike. "Why didn't you drink your milk?" my mother asked.

"Because it's frog's milk!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded. Both she and my teacher tried to understand my sudden vehemence towards milk and its relationship to the croaking amphibian. They tried explaining that frogs don't have udders and all that other biological mumbo jumbo but I wasn't hearing it. My mind was made up.

The next day at snack time, the teacher approached me carton in hand. "Curly, you're right. There is a frog on this carton." Then she pointed to the picture and read aloud the words in the frog's dialogue bubble: "Please don't smoke. I might croak." She tapped her fingernail on each word for emphasis.

"See? It's just an ad. And even though there's no picture of a cow on the carton, the milk still comes from one. The frog is just here to teach a lesson."

I though about her argument for a second. "Now will you drink it?" she asked.

"Nope," I replied. The frog was in my head and there was no turning back. I've since updated my reasoning but I haven't had a glass (or carton) since.

13. I suck at math. I'm totally capable of doing it but I'm lazy and don't try.

14. My ears are not pierced. It's not because I'm some tomboy dyke either. (I'm good at sports and enjoy watching them but I do not look like a tomboy in the least. Right, minions? RIGHT?)

Anyhoo, I've had my ears pierced twice and both times they got infected. I was meticulous about cleaning them with alcohol and turning them but my sensitive lobes had other ideas. Sometimes I'm tempted to try again but that shit hurt and I'm not sure I want to go through that pain again.

15. I do not like the word "treats."

16. I'm squeamish and easily grossed out. Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy in this regard. I will replay visions of gross things in my head and torture myself to the point of gagging. Last week, after I reported my dislike of pancake makeup, I conjured up this awful close-up of pores in my head. I made my own skin crawl.

I've found that the best remedy for this is to silently chant a mantra (or IM it to The Lovely Jess when I've looped her into my latest round of insanity). It goes a little something like this:

Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops

Say what you want but it works!

17. When I was 8, my picture was on the front page of a Port Jervis, NY newspaper. It was right before Labor Day so the reporter was looking for pictures of kids cramming in activities before school started. They found me fishing with my Dad (God, that sounds so Andy & Opie) and thought I was a prime candidate. The only problem was that right before they showed up, I had cast a line into the lake and the worm flew off. I assumed the worm landed in the water as that's a frequent occurrence with bait that it not properly attached to the hook.

Um, it turns out the worm landed in my hair. Yes, my hair. I found it while the photographer was snapping away. I'm sure my reaction made for quite the interesting photo essay. The picture that was used was an action shot of me with a line in the water. It was taken pre-worm discovery so the brown worm was camped out in my brown hair. However, to the untrained eye, it looked like the beginnings of a dreadlock.

* Bonus Fact: On another fishing expedition, I was walking behind my sister while she was casting a line and got hooked right square in the nose. The damn thing went right into my nostril. Yes, it's as painful and horrifying as it sounds.

18. I have never been in a fist fight to defend myself. I did, however, send a boy home crying to his mama because he picked on my younger sister.

It went down like this: Arnold shoved my little sister and my best friend's little brother; they both got hurt and started to cry; I saw red and WHAM! I punched that fucker right in the face; Arnold went wee wee wee all the way home.

19. I had my share of childhood traumas at school but I was never ever picked last in gym class. I was one of the most athletic girls in the class. In fact, I once single-handedly wiped out all but one member of the opposing team in dodge ball.

I was on a tear that day! I don't know what came over me. I was catching balls and whipping them back with super-human speed and precision. My class cheered me on while I ducked, weaved and jumped like I had never ducked, weaved and jumped before.

I annihilated the other team. It came down to me and one other girl who, I might add, was so NOT athletic. She had managed to stay in the game by hiding behind people in the back row. But there was no hiding now! She had to face me. We threw the ball back and forth several times. She behaved like a total sissy prancing out of the way of the ball and hugging the boundary lines (actually the boundaries were folding tables on either side of the court. I went to a parochial school and we had no budget for proper gym equipment, or even a gym for that matter, so we played in a multi-purpose room).

In the final play, I lofted the ball in her direction and she caught it in a "trap" on top of one of the tables at the far end of the court. Normally, a trap meant the ball was still in play but the gym teacher called me out. My mouth fell open and my third grade class nearly rioted. They screamed, shouted and protested but the ruling stood. Truthfully, I think the gym teacher deliberately blew the call because he was concerned for my health. My cheeks were flushed and I was sweating like crazy so he probably thought it wise to give me ample time to cool down before math class.

20. I have nice handwriting. (Can you tell I'm running out of ideas?)

Ew. I just grossed myself out again with the thought of those pores...

Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops

Numbers 1-10
Numbers 21-30
Numbers 31-40

all the small things, part 1

My thoughts this week are scattered and I'm having a hard time writing a post on one topic. So what better time than now to write up a numbered list that allows for -- and encourages -- deviation from a single subject? (FYI, I'm taking a cue from those 100 Things About Me lists I've seen on countless sites.) However, there's no way I have the attention span to compile such a list in one sitting or the patience to wait until 100 before publishing so I'm going to do it in chunks of 10.

Kindly nag my ass if weeks go by and numbers 11-100 have not been posted. However, please note that I'm making an effort to not rehash some of the quirks I've already divulged in other posts (here and here). In other words, allow me some time to uncover new hang-ups and observations. I'm a fussy neurotic type so I don't imagine it will take long.

And now in truly random order, here are the first 10 things you may or may not know about moi:

1. I'm tall. I can almost always reach things on the top shelf at stores without asking for help.

2. I can deftly sneak away from the pile of rubble that ensues when I really should have asked for help at the store but didn't. If broken glass is involved, I'll fess up.

3. I do a mean Linda Richman impersonation. The fact that I already say "cawfee" helps considerably.

4. I'm a cartoon-like Good Samaritan. I actually helped an old lady cross the street one time. On another occasion, I assisted an old lady in stepping over a puddle. However, I did not drape my jacket over the puddle so I lose some points there.

5. The term "active cultures" on food labels concerns me. As such, I have to force myself to eat yogurt. I'll eat only one kind though -- Dannon La Creme Vanilla. Any additional ingredients (i.e. sliced banana, raisins, wheat germ, etc.) must be added by me or another person in my presence. I find that Fruit on the Bottom shit to be absolutely repugnant.

6. Even though I'm Scottish, I've never seen Braveheart. Shut up, it's on my Netflix queue.

7. I was nominated for class president in the third grade and lost to the most popular boy in the class. I think my bid was unsuccessful because the text of my campaign speech was quite fiery and pro-woman while my delivery was decidedly NOT. Public speaking is not now nor has it ever been my forte.

8. I've never broken a bone. ::knock wood:: I did, however, fuck up my left knee sliding into home during a softball game. I was waved home to break the tie but the catcher charged as I was sliding and we got all tangled up and I ended up spraining my knee (and being tagged out). I had to have an MRI and everything. To this day, walking down stairs is painful. Upside? I can always tell when it's going to rain.

9. I dislike the taste and smell of wintergreen candy, toothpaste, mouthwash, what have you. I'm all about the peppermint. Spearmint comes in a distant second.

10. My first real crush was on a boy I met in the Catskills. We went to the same campground every summer. For years we were friends who played Marco Polo and Manhunt and had so much fun together. It was fabulous up until that summer when I started feeling funny about him. I was constantly daydreaming about him being my boyfriend... and then I saw it. He was slow-dancing with a girl at a party! OUCH. I got over it eventually but oh, how it hurt at the time!

Imagine my surprise years later when I turned on E! and discovered that he grew up to become Gorilla, the intern of limited intelligence on The Howard Stern Show. For the record, I have no regrets that this crush didn't pan out.

Numbers 11-20
Numbers 21-30
Numbers 31-40

on baptism and greased palms

The Nephew That Is So Fucking Cute I Want to Die was christened on Saturday. My wee man was totally chill as the priest dumped cold water on his head. In fact, the only noise he made the whole time was just a tiny yelp when the chrism oil was applied. However, the yelp was soon replaced with a look of sheer relaxation as the priest rubbed the oil into his head to keep it from dripping. The Nephew enjoys a good scalp massage, apparently.

My uncle who lives in Toronto came down for the ceremony. He is the same uncle who, despite his age, can really tear it up on the dance floor. Furthermore, he's the same uncle who sends me and the younger sister money every Christmas while the two oldest McDimple Girls don't get shit.

Mind you, I'm going to be 32 (in 9 days in case you're interested) and my younger sister just turned 30. We protest and remind our aunts and uncles of our age but well, we're the youngest of all the first cousins so I guess that makes us ageless. As such, they continue to grease our palms with twenties in person and send us pound notes and international money orders in the mail for birthdays and holidays. I have to say, it's ample compensation for all those years we were sentenced to the folding kiddie table.

batter up

Yours Truly: I'm supposed to have coffee with a colleague who's in town for the day. I'm dreading it because she makes me really uncomfortable.

Jess: Why's that?

YT: Two words: pancake makeup

Jess: Mon dieu!

YT: Yup.

Yes, it's true... I have issues with pancake makeup. Laugh all you want and poke fun but that shit really disturbs me. As stated before, I'm really weird about texture so, not surprisingly, when I see layers of schmutz on someone's face at close range... well, I want to die. (Notice I didn't say "shrivel up and die" because the word "shrivel" brings to mind wrinkles, creases and folds. As you can imagine, that is a most unholy mental alliance for someone like myself who's not down with the whole texture thing.)

I interned at CNBC when I was in college and whenever I encountered pancake-wearing on-air talent in the halls, I had a mini nervous breakdown. I was on the elevator with a female anchor one day and she insisted on engaging me in small talk. Under different circumstances, I would have welcomed that. For example, fill-in anchor Sheila Steinback and I had a lovely conversation about Melrose Place in the pantry one evening. She hadn't gone to makeup yet so I was more than happy to chat with her about Amanda's latest schemes and the funky scar on Kimberly's melon. It was all very pleasant. However, had Sheila taken the Elevator Anchor's lead and tried chatting me up with layers of thick beige shit and primary colors spackled to her face, well... I would have asked Sheila to kindly do me a solid and disengage.

I'm still traumatized by Elevator Anchor's made-up face. In the light of that elevator, she looked like she had been prepped by a mortician. Since I don't make a habit out of talking to stiffs, this was NOT a pleasant experience for me.

However, I'm pleased to report that there's a happy ending to this ridiculous tale... the aforementioned colleague got sucked into a bunch of meetings and had to cancel on me. Pity.

the new-age cheese diet

Several months ago, I launched a little something called The Tesh Experiment. For those of you too lazy or disinterested to follow the link, the exercise involves my pseudo chagrin over the lack of activity on the Tesh Cam.

You see, there was a time when the Tesh Cam provided insight into John and his crappy music-making. And now, sadly, it only shows John's less-than-bustling mailroom. Despite a fictional impassioned email authored by Yours Truly, the camera angle has not been moved. It still shows that fucking roll of tape! It's been that way for months and shows no signs of budging so I'm officially giving up. You beat me this time, Tesh.

However, I found a new source of amusement on that website -- the Message Board! Oh, but it's a fascinating and informative area to explore! For example, did you know that The Tesh has his own radio show? Did you further know that like his fellow God Squad member, Pat Robertson, The Tesh is now doling out diet tips and health advice on said radio show? Oh yes, it's true. Behold!*

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Subject: Diet tips air on the radio

John, I listened to your radio often. One night, I heard you list a few things that we can do to loose weight. Would you please email this list to me again? It starts with drinking coffee in the morning and eating sour dough bread for lunch.

Thanks,
JP

Put down the weights, ladies and gentlemen! Step off the treadmills and elliptical machines for The Tesh himself says a mere cup o' joe and a slice o' sour dough will trim you down. Hmmm... I wonder if that's how Connie manages to stay so slim?

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Subject: "eat less of your entree"???

Ok, you've got some good ideas and thoughts that i really enjoy. BUT....you said that you should order a soup or salad as an appetizer so that you would eat less of your entree. Why should you eat less of an entree that you paid for? In my opinion, that's just a waste of money, and more importantly, food.

How dare The Tesh promote portion control! If Applebee's wants to give you an entire side of beef on a bun, you best eat that shit up. Stick it to the Man! And don't forget your coupons from the Sunday circular!

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Subject: John Tesh Radio

Dear John
I just wanted to say that I really do enjoy your show. My son loves it when you bring up things that will improve our lives ie. chewing gum to increase oxygen to the body, eating dinner together as a family.

Thanks

Feeling sluggish and run down? Why, just pop a stick of Juicy Fruit into your gob and you'll be all oxygenated and refreshed. Oh and that whole eating dinner together with the family idea is positively revolutionary. His originality astounds me. What on earth would we DO without The Tesh?

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Subject: You have an awesome show!

Dear John,
I listen to your show every chance I get. If I can't listen, I go to the computer and go to your web site and look at the transcript. Totally amazing all the tidbits of intelligience that you come up with.

I do have one question....I have been troubled by kidney stones. Have had two surgeries in less than a year with another coming up. One urologist told me that they are caused by dehydration and another tells me its calcium that causes them....but because I am menopausal, I can't stay away from calcium. Is there anything in your research that can help me out with information on how to avoid the kidney stones. My stones grow so big that they block the ureter. Any dietary advice? Thank you for reading this post. Sincerely, Dolores

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Subject: airlines and hospitals

Dear John...I was on my way to work when you said you would talk about not flying if you have been in the hospital. My daughter works in a hospital and is leaving on an airplane on Wednesday. Anything I need to worry about? Thank you so very much for all the great ideas and information.
Barbara

Why call your doctor with important health questions when you can just ask The Tesh?! I'm sure his years of cohosting Entertainment Tonight have adequately prepared him to tackle such topics. And if he's not sure, I'm sure he can just call up Jesus to get a second opinion. He's got His direct line, you know.

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Subject: Less stress food shopping

I'm a meat wrapper and I see some really nice people come in the supermarmarket when it's open 8:00A.M. looking for (fresh)chopped meat.

Mr.Tesh most butchers only start at 8:00 Their shopping experience would be a lot less strssful if they would give them at least a hour. tell them to read the (entire0 sales letter.When turkeys are on sale,see if the sign reads,Fresh or Frozen.

At Thanksgiving people get crazy when they think they're going to get a (fresh)trukey only to be told the sale is for a frozen one. I hope this will help all of us, workers and shoppers alike. Thank you

I'm not even going to make fun of the meat wrapper because dude's got a cleaver and access to machinery that could make my ass disappear. Even worse, he could pass me off as ground chuck and well, that's just humiliating. While I don't eat meat, I do fancy myself a more expensive cut... should my body ever become available in this format. So I'm going to make nice with the meat wrapper and put forth his message that one should not piss off the supermarket butcher by quibbling over frozen versus fresh turkeys at 8am. Capiche?

* Please note that there is a global [sic] for all typos and misspellings in the quoted messages. For typos and misspellings in my own copy, uh... just deal until I discover and fix them myself.

irish cheddar... and a little something for the germans

Sheila takes on Michael Flatley, he with the Feet o' Flames, in spectacular fashion. Please read it.

Oh, and speaking of cheese, check out Mr. October from The Hoff Calendar...

Is it just me or does The Hoff look like a member in good standing of Dykes on Bikes?

Want some mo' Hoff?

:: Boobwatch, Indeed
:: The Hoff Super Fantastic Activity Fun Book
:: May the Hoff Rise up to Meet You
:: Season's Greetings from Curly and The Hoff
:: Soap from a Dope
:: Wax On, Wax Hoff
:: A Wee Bit o' Schmaltz

on role reversal and really good memories

I recently babysat My Two Favorite Wee Boys. The younger one (age 8) asked that I read to him before bed. I love love LOOOOVE reading to kids so I went at this task with a gusto.

He selected McDuff & The Baby, a rather short book that we tore through in several minutes. As a result, the 8-Year-Old was neither satisfied nor sleepy. I let him get out of bed to pick out another book. Picture it... a 31-year-old and an 8-year-old standing side-by-side perusing the shelves and then the 31-year-old clapping her hands excitedly and squealing, "OOOOH! OOOOH! Can we read Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel? Please?! Can we?" The 8-Year-Old was the picture of coolness, mind you. At first he countered with Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and then relented, no doubt because of the scowl that had formed on my face.

I hadn't read Mike Mulligan since grammar school so I was tres excited. The first thing I did after opening the book was lift it up to my nose to smell it. Naturally the 8-Year-Old was all, "What the hell are you doing?" (Yes, he says "hell" and "sucks" now. I swear it's not my doing!) I explained to him that the smell of a book is one of the best smells ever. He picked it up, gave it a sniff and then said, "Mmmm." Between you and me, I think he was just being polite because he wanted to get on with the story and get my snout out of his book.

I love the smell of books, rally I do. I can conjure up the precise smell of the library in my grammar school without much effort. And from there it leads me on a sensory stroll down memory lane. I can hear the sound of the hard plastic protective wrappers rattling and cracking when a book is opened. I hear the "ja-dunk" noise from that little machine the librarians used to stamp the due-date cards before reinserting them in the book's inside cover. I can hear the awful clanking of our school's one and only ditto machine. I even remember the smell of the purple ditto ink. It was quite noxious as I recall...

I loved going to the school library... except on the days we had to sit through Sister Mary Ellen's boring ass lectures about the Dewey Decimal System. That's not a saucy topic to begin with but sweet Jesus, that woman took it to new boring heights. Normally, the library trip was supposed to calm kids down and get us to be quiet and focused. However, I remember my entire class being visibly agitated and riled-up after that long and overly-detailed explanation of the card catalogue. And we had to sit through it EVERY year! Oh it was torture.

But back to the good points of the library... Each week we were allowed to check out one book and a magazine or two books. The kids always ran right to the magazine rack in order to get dibs on the new Highlights (I loved me some "Goofus and Gallant"), 3-2-1 Contact and Dynamite magazines. The rack was picked clean within seconds so the stampede then made its way towards the books. There was always a cluster of kids shoving and throwing elbows in three specific areas in the fiction section: "D" (Roald Dahl); "H" (S.E. Hinton); and "B." Any guesses who that popular author was?

Further Reading (if you're so inclined):
Here are my responses to a Book Challenge Sheila tasked me with a few months back.

stressing out in real time

Late Friday afternoon...

Jess: Did you hear about Friendster?

Yours Truly: I don't think so. What's up?

Jess: They activated a "Who's Viewed My Profile" feature without telling anyone. You can totally see who's looked at your profile in the past 30 days.

YT: Oooh. Going there right now...

Jess: Hee hee.

:: I log in and see a photo gallery of people who were looking at me. One thumbnail photo immediately jumps out at me and I gasp ::

YT: Oh man. THE EX was looking at my profile.

Jess: Oh really?

YT: Yup. She's totally busted... But I'm.not.going.to.click.on.her.profile!

Jess: Good!

:: several minutes pass ::

YT: God, who are some of these people looking at me? I don't know them.

Jess: I'm trying to remember whose profiles I looked at.

YT: I don't think I've really logged on in the past month.

YT: Shit! Maybe I have. I don't remember.

YT: But I definitely didn't look at THE EX's profile recently! I know that much.

:: several minutes pass ::

YT: Sigh... it says "In a Relationship" under her name.

YT: Eh, I knew that. It doesn't bother me.

:: several more minutes pass ::

YT: Yes it does.

YT: But I'm.still.not.clicking.on.her.profile!

Jess: Good!!

:: several more minutes pass ::

YT: Oh curse you for telling me about this!!!

Jess: I'm sorry!!

YT: Hee hee. It's okay. I was totally giggling as I typed that.

Fast forward to Sunday night...I.still.haven't.clicked.on.her.profile. My heart hurts a little bit but my willpower is, how you say, fucking kick-ass! Just the same, I fixed my privacy settings so that my profile views aren't counted... you know, in case I get weak.

In case any of you Friendster stalkers, er, I mean... users, were unaware of this new feature, fear not! People FREAKED the fuck out and the powers-that-be at Friendster immediately wiped the visit history clean. I don't know when it will kick in again so do yourselves a favor and adjust your settings now so that you can continue to stalk your exes the way God intended -- all sneaky like.

filler

I'm allergy ridden, y'all. I'm congested and have the headache to end all headaches. It hurts too much to think much less write so I'm taking a wee blogging breather. But I did want to share something SO cute with you. My friend Amy adopted a 6-year-old Chihuahua named Penelope. This pooch is so adorable I just want to scream. I mean, really, just look at this:

It's a dog in a hoodie, you guys! Couldn't you just die? I think the only thing cuter is maybe a wet kitten... and I don't even like cats! However, douse one with water and it becomes instantly irresistible to me.

To my fellow fall allergy sufferers, stay strong. This too shall pass.