i'll have the big gulp, thank you

Okay, so there's this woman at work who's relatively new and, I swear to God, I CANNOT shut up around her.

Did you ever know one of those people who, despite your best efforts, you simply cannot help but yammer incessantly whenever they are near? Well, it happens to me occasionally and it sucks. I don't know what comes over me sometimes. It's like a sickness.

Believe it or not, I'm considered quiet at work... [I'll pause for the incredulous, "Youuuuuuuuuu?!" response. To which I say: "How very clever and unexpected! Now, suck my left nut and let me get on with my story!" Mama has the PMS, you see...]

So, as I was saying before I was hypothetically interrupted, I'm considered one of the less talkative people in the office. This woman, however, would be inclined to disagree.

It's not that she even makes me nervous or flustered. I don't like her or anything like that. I mean, she's nice and stuff but I'm not stricken chatty because I have a crush on her. I swear I don't. I realize that I'm opening myself up to accusations that I doth protest too much but those of you willing to levy such a charge can taketh thine Shakespeare and shove it up thine arse(s). Me lady is not even me type.

Anyhoo, I think I may have discovered the root of the problem. The first time she and I spoke, I had just emerged from a day of not really socializing with anyone. I was really busy all day and didn't have a chance to chat with any of my coworkers. I bumped into her in the pantry late in the day and SPLAT! Verbal fucking diarrhea. A day's worth of pent-up chit-chat, small talk and mindless banter exploded from my mouth with such speed and force that I could NOT put a cork in it. I had the oral runs. The talkative trots, even. The spoken shits, if you will.

I caught myself jawing away and was actually telling myself to shut up in my head. But I couldn't reel it in. What spewed forth was an unending stream of uninteresting, useless, overly-detailed information, observations and the like. I was holding that poor woman hostage but could.not.make.it.stop. I felt like Ted Striker constantly talking about the war to his fellow passengers in Airplane! How this woman wasn't dangling from the rafters or sucking on a bullet by the time our conversation ended is nothing short of a miracle.

And now whenever I see her, I try so hard to be cool and not talk a lot that I get nervous and well, the incessant babbling begins. I feel like emailing her and saying, "Look, I'm not usually such a talkative fucktard. I swear I'm not. May we please wipe the slate clean and begin again?"

Maybe I should invest in a sedative. I can have it on me at all times like an EpiPen so that I can just jab myself in the thigh whenever I feel an attack coming on. That should do it. OR!!! I can follow her into the bathroom every time she goes in. At some point, she's bound to emit an embarrassing noise or odor and then won't she be ashamed that I witnessed it! The balance of power will finally be restored!

Ooh, there she goes! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go "fix my hair."

random thoughts, rhetorical questions and the occasional brain fart

Once again I'm embarking on a series that I promise to continue... but probably won't. But, it's good to have goals, right? The follow-through biznatch is another story entirely...

So, without further ado (and with full apologies to George Carlin), here's a short list of some of the things I, Curly McDimple, have pondered:

1. How do you dispose of a garbage can? Won't the trash collectors just leave it on the curb with the rest of them?

2. What asinine circumstances preceded the discovery of peanut butter as an effective means of removing gum from one's hair? I mean, did someone flail about the house in a panic and then crash head-first into a tub of Skippy after getting Hubba Bubba stuck in his 'do?!

I'm assuming that during this same melee, a can of Coke was knocked into a toilet thereby leading to the discovery of its impressive porcelain-cleaning power. Coincidentally, that person who knocked over the soda managed to get a glob of toothpaste on his arm precisely where he had a mosquito bite and voila! No more itch! Meanwhile, all the commotion frightened an eye-witness so much that her violent hiccups were instantly cured.

And there you have it, I guess.

3. Why is there an anti-skip feature on portable CD players? Is there a pro-skip movement that I don't know about? Are they in the same camp as the people who don't like to remove red eye from their photos?

Got ridiculous questions/observations? Please share them!
_______________________________________

* Please don't respond to these questions with "facts and figures" or "logic." I will instantly hate you if you do.

have you ever..

Wow, it's been several days since I've written anything. In order to ease myself back into the process, I'm going to start out with something quick and easy. Here's something fun I found over at Sheila's.

Have You Ever...

Smoked a cigarette or tried it:
Uh, yup. Plenty o' times. Straight-up cigarettes in addition to the "funny" ones.

Crashed a friend's car:
Nope.

Stolen a car:
Despite growing up right near Newark, NJ -- the car theft capital of the world -- I never felt the urge to lift someone's ride.

Been dumped:
Yup. I have years of therapy bills and Paxil receipts to prove it.

Shoplifted:
Yes... but nothing major. Actually, I never nicked the items myself. Instead, I hatched the ideas and made my friends do the deed. Just call me the Teflon Curly.

Been fired/laid off:
I was let go from a part-time job once but fortunately, I've always left my full-time gigs willingly. ::knocks wood / turns in a circle three times and spits / says a Novena::

Been in a fist fight:
Never with another girl. As stated here before, I gave some boy an ass-whupping when he hurt my younger sister. I also threw another kid a beatin' or two. He was an annoying pest and I had the full support of the neighborhood kids whenever I whaled on him.

Oh and I accidentally gave a girl a fat lip. I was in first grade and the class was told to line up next to the teacher's desk. I bent down to tie my shoe or pick up my paper or something and when I stood back up, my head bopped some girl in the mouth. I had NO idea she was standing so close and hovering over me when I bent down. So, really, the fat lip was her own damn fault for crawling so far up my ass.

Snuck out of your parent's house:
Nope. My parents never kept me on a short leash so I didn't really have to rebel. I gave them plenty of shit about other stuff but curfew was never really an issue.

Been arrested:
No.

Gone on a blind date:
Yes, and it sucked. There's no real story beyond that. It was just really boring. I actually yawned in the woman's face.

Lied to a friend:
Sadly, yes.

Skipped school:
Like Sheila, I ditched in college but never cut class in high school. The penalty for cutting class in my high school was a week of 7:45am detentions. Skipping a 40-minute class was so not worth five days of waking up at the ass crack of dawn.

Seen someone die:
No.

Been to Canada:
Oui! I've got a bunch of cousins scattered around Ontario, eh.

Been to Mexico:
No.

Eaten sushi:
Of course.

Met someone in person from the internet:
Plenty o' times. See here, here, here, here and here. I also met THE EX through the Internet and many other cool people yet to be blogged about.

Taken pain-killers:
Mmm... hydrocodone.

Had a tea party:
A real one? I don't think so but I'm sure I had plenty of fake ones when I was little.

Cheated while playing a game:
Totally! In grade school, we used to play girls vs. boys tag in the school yard. When I wanted to get from one end of the yard to the other, I used to yell, "Girls are IT!" and the boys closing in on me would then run in the opposite direction. I was like Moses parting the mofo Red Sea. Naturally, as I neared base I'd yell, "SIKE!" It's worth noting the dumb ass boys fell for it EVERY time. Assholes!

Fallen asleep at work:
No, but I've come close.

Used a fake ID:
No, I didn't need one because I mostly went to places where I knew I wouldn't be carded. However, I did give my younger sister permission to duplicate my license and masquerade as me. Ah, lax pre-9/11 security...

Felt an earthquake:
No.

Touched a snake:
I think I did but I've since managed to suppress the memory. The details are quite fuzzy. Perhaps it's a side-effect of the venom...

Been robbed:
Yup. Someone broke into my Manhattan apartment a few years ago and stole my brand-new digital camcorder and a diamond-cut Claddagh ring my aunt gave me. My roommate had a diamond watch, a ruby necklace and some cash stolen. Fortunately the thieves were long gone by the time we got home and discovered the stuff was missing.

Should I ever be called for jury duty, I plan on playing up the emotional distress angle to dissuade defense attorneys from approving me.

Petted a reindeer/goat:
Both... and then promptly scoured my hands.

Won a contest:
Yup. One of my black-and-white photos won honorable mention in the Meadowlands Teen Arts Festival when I was in high school. How many of you can lay claim to the distinct honor of having artwork shown at the Mill Creek Mall in lovely Secaucus, New Jersey? Huh?!

I also won 3rd place in a poster contest trumpeting the importance of good posture. My rendering of a slouching man was a big hit with the local chiropractors.

Been suspended from school:
Nope.

Been in a car accident:
Yes. Some jittery old broad blew a stop sign just as I was entering an intersection. I couldn't stop in time and I clipped the back of her car. No one was hurt but she was given a ticket at the scene and I had to jump through fucking hoops to get the $2,000 worth of damage she caused to my Toyota from her crappy insurance company.

Had braces:
Yup. And a retainer. And bridge work. My grill is 'spensive, yo.

Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night:
Never. I'm lucky if I can get through a couple of scoops of ice cream, nevermind a whole carton. There was a time, however, when I was a big fan of frosting. I used to stick a container in the fridge for a couple of hours and then go at it with a spoon later. Mmm... I think I need to pay a visit to Key Food...

Witnessed a crime:
Yes. I was in the East Village with The Masseuse several years ago. We just had a lovely brunch at Stingy Lulu's and while we were walking along either Second or Third Avenue, we heard a scuffle behind us.

I turned around and saw a homeless man and a young woman playing tug of war with a bicycle tire. She was wearing a helmet so clearly the tire was hers and he lifted it when she was trying to chain up her bike.

She yelled, "Give it back!" and then he grabbed the wheel from her, swung around and smashed it on top of her head. He took off and we ran over to the woman who was bleeding profusely. The Masseuse called the victim's friend (at her request) while I called 911. We stayed with her until the paramedics arrived. Fortunately, her head wound was only superficial. Unfortunately, I'll never forget the sight of that man hitting her. It was truly awful.

Swam in the ocean:
Yup. I prefer pools though. I've been tossed on the shore and had waves crash on my head more than once so I'm respectfully fearful of the ocean. I pretty much go in to cool off and then get right back out. I'm also not a fan of seaweed slapping me in the legs. And even though they're harmless, horseshoe crabs freak me the fuck out.

Sung karaoke:
Once.

Paid for a meal with only coins:
I've definitely paid for breakfast and lunch with coins but never dinner. No one bats an eye when you fork over a pile of quarters for coffee and a bagel or a slice of pizza. The practice is shunned in the later hours of the day as the price of the meal grows exponentially here in NY.

I once bought $2.00 worth of gas with the change I found on the floor, in the seats and ash try in my very first car -- a Plymouth Horizon. Jezebel (as christened by my friends) was running on fumes and would have stalled on the highway if I didn't put something in the tank. I apologized as I handed over the dimes and nickels to the attendant expecting him to be all annoyed. Instead, he laughed and thanked me because he needed the change. So it worked out.

Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose:
Indeed. Pepsi, in particular, leaves a long-lasting tingle in one's snout.

Been kissed under mistletoe:
I don't think so.

Crashed a party:
No. I've fibbed about my credentials to get into press events but I've never shown up to a party uninvited.

Worn pearls:
Same answer as the tea party question. As a child, yes, but never seriously as an adult.

Jumped off a bridge:
No.

Ate dog/cat food:
Um, I don't eat meat fit for humans so the chance of me eating Alpo or Nine Lives is really quite slim.

Kissed a mirror:
Probably.

Glued your hand to something:
Apart from the very common fingers-glued-together Krazy Glue mishap, nope.

Done a one-handed cartwheel:
Aw, hells no. I can't even do a two-handed cartwheel. My somersaults are rather suspect too. Mary Lou Retton I am not.

Talked on the phone for more than 6 hours:
Many times and for WAY longer than 6 hours, that's for sure. I think my record is 12 hours. I was in a long-distance relationship at the time, what do you expect?

Didn't take a shower for a week:
Um, I don't think I've ever gone that long. I think the most I've ever gone is about three or four days, but that wasn't by choice. I was in the Appalachians on a youth group trip when I was in high school. The water supply was limited so we were restricted to "bird baths." After days of building, gardening, heavy lifting, etc., we were all good and ripe by the time we got home.

Picked and ate an apple right off the tree:
I don't think so. I don't find myself in orchards all that often and even then, I'm a big fan of washing fruit before eating it.

Been told by a complete stranger that you're hot:
Si.

a holiday chestnut

The beauty of having a blog that's more than a year old is that I can now recycle content. Those of you who have been here since the beginning might not appreciate the idea of leftovers (especially since you're about to embark on a week's worth of reheated turkey, turkey sandwiches, turkey soup, etc.) but, well, I've been busy these days and not feeling all that creative to boot. What better time for a rerun?

And so, I present to you, a reissue of last year's Thanksgiving offering from Yours Truly...

on thanksgiving and why i think peppermint patty is a big ol' bitch
I'm heading out to New Jersey tomorrow to spend the holiday with my family. I love Thanksgiving... even though I don't eat turkey or most things that cluck, oink or moo. However, my mother makes enough veggie side dishes to keep me good and bloated the entire weekend. [Note to self: Wear pants with an elastic waistband.]

Fortunately, my mother now lets me sleep late on Thanksgiving morning. She used to wake up the family and make us go to church, you see. This was always a bone of contention because all I wanted to do was lounge around in my PJs and watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. But she won the battle (like I had a chance!) and off we went to church.

Truthfully, it was a nice service. During the Mass, each family received a small loaf of bread to be shared at the dinner table that evening. After the bread was distributed, the priest asked the congregation to hold it up so he could bless it. This took one family by surprise because when they sheepishly lifted up their loaf, there was already a big bite out of it. My younger sister pointed it out and we giggled until we got The Church Death Stare from the mother.

In other news, ABC will be running A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving on Thursday night. You know, out of all the Peanuts holiday specials I've seen, this is probably my least favorite. [Full disclosure: I've not seen the more recent Easter, Valentine's Day and New Year's specials.]

The reason I don't like this particular installment falls solely on the shoulders of one Ms. Peppermint Patty. She's a tiresome figure in this outing. Actually, she's dreadful in all of her appearances but this one is particularly cloying. And yes, I have seen Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown (And Don't Come Back!) where she typifies the ugly American. But I maintain that her galling lack of etiquette on Thanksgiving, of all days, completely trumps her appalling behavior abroad. In fact, while I'm normally loathe to use this term, I'd go so far as to say that Peppermint Patty is a cunt.

Yeah, I said it.

Some background: Charlie Brown and Sally were all set to go to dinner at their grandmother's house. Then Peppermint Patty called and invited herself over for dinner. He tried telling her they wouldn't be home but she wasn't hearing it so being the sensitive and well-mannered young man that he is, Charlie Brown decided to host his own impromptu Thanksgiving dinner. He recruited Snoopy, Woodstock and Linus and together they assembled a feast of toast, pretzels, popcorn and jelly beans.

While the menu was rather unorthodox, you have to applaud their responsible and forward-thinking approach: There was no use of an oven without parental supervision nor was there risk of a salmonella outbreak caused by a bunch of rookies trying to cook poultry. Um, not sure how I feel about a dog and a bird preparing food but under the circumstances, I'll let it slide.

So Peppermint Patty arrived rocking her usual look -- shorts, a green-striped polo and Birkenstocks. The bitch could have at least dressed up a little. Oh and if her behavior thus far wasn't appalling enough, she had Marcie and Franklin in tow and not one of those assholes thought to bring the host a gift! And then when dinner was served, Peppermint Patty had the audacity to criticize the food and the table setting!! God, could she be any more callous and inappropriate? I want to punch her in that round, freckled face of hers.

Um, okay, I'm ending this now before I have aneurysm.

>> Originally published on November 23,2004

Happy Thanksgiving to all! And, um, Happy Plain Old Thursday in advance to my non-Yank readers!

rejoining the sisterhood

After last week's breeder-like bonanza, I made good on my promise to dyke things up this weekend. Okay, so perhaps I didn't get my Wiccan on nor did I salivate my way through Little Man Tate, but I did manage to be good and gay for a couple of days, uh, straight.

On Friday night, I had drinks with my sister in Sappho, JC, at Ginger's in Park Slope, aka Lesbian Mecca. We eschewed the hip and happening Cattyshack in favor of the more laid-back pub so that we could actually hear each other speak. And speak we did! We killed several hours kvelling over exes, talkin' 'bout chicks and tearing through several other topics that put us squarely in the homo girl category.

When we left, it was good and cold outside. JC was kind enough to let me take the first available cab while she waited in the chilly night. However, I think she got the last laugh because the minute I closed the cab door, I was bitch-slapped by the unmistakable stench of Cab Driver B.O.™

Now, if you're unfamiliar with the scent, imagine, if you will, that someone ingested a mixture of sweat and ass and then explosively shit it back out. Yeah, it's kinda like that. And in the cold weather, there's an extra layer to the stank because the car's heat in conjunction with the closed windows really bake in the smell. The resulting aroma is very robust with a Cajun-like influence that's enough to singe a few nose hairs.

On Saturday night I went to the Best Lesbian Short Films screening and social held at the venerable Bluestockings Bookstore on the Lower East Side. Sandra Grace organized the event and it was a huge success. Despite the lack of advertising, the place was overflowing with people primarily because of word-of-mouth. I received the invite from Sandra a couple of weeks ago and promptly forwarded it to several friends. It turns out that everyone had the same idea because the place was jammed with an enthusiastic and appreciative audience. For once, people exercised the power of the forward function for good.

Sandra has another event coming soon! Here's the info:

SAVE THE DATE: Friday January 27, 2006 @ 7pm. Sandra Grace presents BEST LESBIAN & ALTERNATIVE SHORT FILMS at The Center, 208 W. 13th St, New York, NY 10011. $10. Screening films by Valerie Weiss, Kelly Sebastian, Melanie LaRosa, and more! Also showing Open, the latest comedy produced/written by Sandra Grace and Teale Failla (http://openmovie.tripod.com).

on diplomacy

I entered the elevator in the Court Street subway station this evening to find this wee dust-up already in progress...

English Chap: "Sir, you DO realize that you just bumped into me?"

Drunken Slob: "Ugh."

English Chap: "You literally just shoved me out of your path and manhandled me. That was very, very rude. Are you aware of that?"

Drunken Slob: "Mmm. Urgh."

English Chap: "You had better be more careful or there are bound to be repercussions. Just you think about that."

Awww snap! Dem's... uh, very articulate and polite fighting words!

Everyone on the elevator looked over at Drunken Slob expectantly. He reeked of whiskey (hello, angry drunk!) so I thought for sure he'd take a swing at the English fellow, or, at the very least, bawl him out. Instead, he blinked twice, exhaled loudly, waved his hand at the Englishman with a lazy "Eh!" and then shuffled off the elevator.

Chalk one up for good British manners! Although, I personally would have taken a different route and sent the drunk off with a nice Glasgow Kiss and/or a swift kick in the old meat and two veg, but that's just me...

do i smell a tony?

The multi-talented Sheila, a frequent commenter on this here blog (you may know her as Red), is starring in a great play called Broken Journey.

I saw the show last night with The Lovely Jess and a couple of other friends. The group consensus? Sheila's performance kicked major ass.

The entire energy of the production changed once she took the stage. With her portrayal of Mrs. Millwood, a hippie-dippy psychic, Sheila crafted a memorable and unique character with subtle quirks and "isms." Each gesture, pause and utterance was natural and fluid. Her performance seemed like second nature yet her research and attention to detail was evident at every turn. Her performance was a display of both God-given talent and finely-honed craft.

A sure sign that it was a good performance was that I was able to completely forget about my friendship with Sheila and just lose myself in her character. Occasionally I withdrew back to reality to marvel at and take pride in my friend's achievement but for the rest of the ride, Sheila WAS Mrs. Millwood.

Congrats, Sheila! You were amazing.

The play runs through early December at Theatre Three located at 311 W. 43rd Street. Visit the Phoenix Theatre Ensemble's site for more information.

inside the actors studio with curly mcdimple

I have a love/hate relationship with Inside the Actors Studio. I'll tune in and watch even though I find James Lipton to be incredibly creepy. I find his creepiness to be most evident when he's planting a big verbal wet one on some actor's ass (which is, um, all the time). He looks out towards the audience but doesn't really make eye contact and then his eyes tend to glaze over with a distant, far-away look. The whole thing is disturbing. Maybe it's those saccharine-y compliments of his causing him to slip into a diabetic coma or something. I don't know.

At the same time, some of the questions in his towering stack of blue index cards are thoughtful and probing and make for really compelling interviews. For example, the episode with Sean Penn was brilliant. Ditto for the Meryl Streep and Paul Newman installments. In fact, when the show first started, the caliber of interviews on that show week after week was truly stellar.

In recent years, the roster of guests has become decidedly less impressive. Jennifer Lopez? James, you're joking, right? Billy Joel? WTF? WTF? WTF?!?! Recently, the show tumbled to an all-time low with its booking of one Rosie O'Donnell.

I actually used to like Rosie. I enjoyed her on Star Search and VH-1's Stand-Up Spotlight. I never really thought she was hilarious but she was likeable and earnest and gave it her all. It's those very same qualities that made her talk show succeed, particularly in the early seasons. Her show really worked well in the beginning because she was a huge fan of her guests. She was excited and giddy and asked the questions that most of us wanted to ask. Every member of her audience could relate.

And then stories started to surface about her backstage shenanigans. At the time, I worked for an industry publication where I was in contact with her show's production company. The list of staff changes they sent me week-to-week and month-to-month was astounding. Rosie's ratings were slipping and she cleaned house. What she failed to realize was that her appeal was waning not because of her associate producer but because she was now a bigger star than most of her guests. The novelty wore off. Gone was her wide-eyed admiration of her favorite celebs and in its place was plain old schmoozing.

Her public persona started to change too. Rosie was quoted as saying that people over a certain age who wanted an autograph "[needed] to get a life." In most cases, I would agree with this assessment but not when the advice is coming from the same woman who so famously fawned over Tom Cruise and bawled incessantly in the presence of Barbra Streisand. And didn't she love to tell everyone how, as a youngster, she would wait at the stage door after shows to meet the actors and get autographs? Rosie was getting a bit too big for her Lane Bryant britches, it seemed. The seed of distaste was planted within me.

It bloomed into full-blown dislike after Rosie's truly insufferable post-Columbine anti-gun crusade. I understood her emotional response to the tragedy but her subsequent rants were shrill, misinformed and completely misguided.

And then there was the Rosie magazine debacle. I particularly loved how she turned the bitch switch on full blast and cut her hair into an asymmetrical mess just as she confirmed to the world that she was a big ol' dyke. Nice, Rosie. Thank you.

But back to Inside the Actors Studio... She was recently on the show and I watched it. Dude, I set my DVR and recorded that bad boy so that I wouldn't miss a second and could rewind if need be.

Now you might be asking yourself why I even subjected myself to such a painful hour of television. Well, it's the same reason I watched Rosie in Riding the Bus With My Sister. I see the entertainment value in my own outrage and discomfort. Same logic applies to my viewings of Brown Bunny, Jersey Girl (the Jami Gertz version) and the Today show (fuck you, Al Roker!)

I watched the interview expecting to be amusingly annoyed by Rosie. Instead, I felt a little bad for her. As Lipton prattled through her anemic list of acting accomplishments and accolades, Rosie looked uncomfortable. With each passing second she realized she didn't belong there. And she didn't.

Yes, she's an entertainer in her own right but she's not equipped to teach graduate-level students about acting technique. If the New School were to unveil courses such as "How to Run a Beloved Magazine into the Ground," "The Finer Points of Drake's Cakes" or "When In Doubt, Decoupage!" then maybe Rosie could step in and give us a few pointers. Until then, it's best to leave the heavy theatrical lifting to the big guns.

You know, I have a few student films under my belt and I performed in Christmas and spring pageants from kindergarten through eighth grade. That puts my resume at about the same level as Rosie's, no? While it won't (and shouldn't) get me booked on Inside the Actors Studio, I do think it at least entitles me to answer those questions Lipton poses at the end of every interview. All agreed? Good. Take it away, James!

James Lipton: Curly McDimple began lip-syncing and singing off-key at a young age. She was bitten by the theater bug in high school and quickly won self-appointed critical acclaim with her rousing renditions of "Bui-Doi" from Miss Saigon and Hair's "Colored Spade."

McDimple's unique take on standards and showtunes often courted controversy. For example, her flat-yet-spirited retelling of Annie was censored by the McDimple Family. But the young McDimple thumbed her nose at the nay-sayers and continued honing her own unusual, some would say poor, brand of belting. Her efforts earned her a "For the Love of God, Please Shut Up!" nomination and several other citations.

Curly McDimple can next be seen perfoming selections from Stephen Sondheim's Company in her bathroom mirror in Downtown Brooklyn. But first, Curly will take part in the questionnaire created by the esteemed Bernard Pivot for Bouillon de Culture...

Curly, what is your favorite word?
Intensity.

[Ed Note: What I really want to say: Sassy]

What is your least favorite word?
I'm not too keen on the word "chinos" lately.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
Equal parts humor and intellect.

What turns you off?
Dry, wit-free, overly literal types.

What is your favorite curse word?
"Fuck" for emphasis and/or flavor. "Dickhead" for a putdown. And "ass" always comes in handy.

[Ed Note: I HATE HATE HATE when the actors pretend like they're surprised by this question. Oh, fuck off with that mock surprise! You knew it was coming and you prepared for it so drop the charade.]

What sound or noise do you love?
My own laugh. It took me a long time to find it so I never ever take it granted.

What sound or noise do you hate?
"Hocccccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhh-too!"

[Ed Note: The sound men make when they hoch a loogie and spit.]

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
I would love to create props and sets for movies. I remember seeing From Star Wars to Jedi when I was younger and I really wanted to work in the studio where all the puppets and models were made. I'm still intrigued by the behind-the-scenes movie magic.

What profession would you not like to do?
Proctologist. Seriously, how does one develop a passion for this line of work? Even if you're an ass man/woman, it's not like you're not doing anything fun back there. Call me overly fussy but I don't stick my finger in just anyone's butt... unless you buy me dinner first.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"See? I told you not to believe those judgmental assholes who you said you weren't allowed in. Now let's you and Me go drop shit on their closed-minded heads."

[APPLAUSE]

Thank you.

on matrimony, new additions and accidental hand jobs

I, your favorite big ol' lesbo, have just emerged from THE straightest weekend ever.

On Saturday I attended my dear friend's wedding where I once again wowed the crowd with my 80s dance moves.

On Sunday, I attended another dear friend's baby shower. There was no wowing at this event as the dance moves were confined to the car as I drove to and fro the restaurant. My fellow motorists on Route 280 seemed to be impressed though.

The capper for this marathon hetero weekend? I felt up a dude.

Well, not on purpose. Let me 'splain...

I stayed in Jersey until this morning and had to partake in ye olde suburban commute. I got off the bus and clomped zombie-like through the long, crowded corridor connecting the Port Authority and the Times Square subway stations. As I adjusted the heavy duffel bag on my left shoulder, my right arm swung loose and made direct contact with some guy's junk. Well, it wasn't direct contact necessarily since he was wearing pants. FYI, that is not an extraneous detail to include since this is, after all, New York.

My introduction to the man's genitals was more of a back-handed graze as opposed to full-on cuppage but regardless, I felt sheepish. I looked over at the guy I accidentally violated to offer my apologies and noticed that he seemed quite pleased by my less-than-traditional "handshake." Apparently, my technique was quite good.

I think I need to really gay it up this week to restore my lesbo luster. On the agenda: Jodie Foster movies, heated discussions using the words "patriarchy" and "oppression," animal rescue, vegan cooking and the casting of a Wiccan spell or two.

Gawd, I cannot even joke about that.

on road kill and why it's a riot

Ooooh! Sheila just reposted what I think is her funniest story EVER. I read it when she originally posted it and then several times after and it always reduces me to hysterics. Today's reading was particularly funny because my allergies are quite bad and my laughter sounds like a cross between Smedley and a harmonica. The wheeze is very amusing, if I do say so myself.

Check out Sheila's Night O' Carnage. It's hilarious.

the alan alda sensitivity project: addendum

Here is one more item to add to the running list of lessons I gleaned from watching television during my impressionable youth.

11. Programs like The Jeffersons or Diff'rent Strokes often dealt with the important topic of race relations. While the theme was always responsibly covered, both shows frequently used the same template when wrapping up these episodes. It went a little something like this:

A white person (in a guest-starring role) reveals him/herself to be racist. After his/her misdeeds are discovered, the racist will be called a "turkey" (or a "jive turkey") and then have a door slammed in his/her face by an Enlightened White Person (and show regular).

After the audience's satisfied clapping and whooping dies down, said EWP turns to the black person(s) on the show and demonstrates that he/she is down by instigating a "give me five" while exclaiming something like, "Slip me some skin!"

EWP examples: Mr. Drummond, Tom Willis and, of course, Charles Ingalls

Items 1-10 can be found here. Feeling festive? Check out the Alan Alda Sensitivity Project Holiday Edition.

______________________________
Note: This revelation was inspired by today's IM session with the impossibly kick-ass Helon the Felon.

'employee' of the month

It seems that I've become a floating customer service representative at my local Key Food. Now, as it is, I'm already one of those people forlorn tourists stop in the street and subway to ask for directions. I'm assuming it's because I've got that knowledgeable-and-self-assured-yet-approachable look about me. If you ask me where Little Italy is, you can be confident that I'll not only get you there, I also won't beat your ass for daring to make eye contact with me. I'm very good that way.

So, back to Key Food... As I've stated before on this here blog, I'm tall (5'8") so I've helped my fellow shoppers out more than once by extending my gangly arms to grab the desired can of Manwich or the bag of Solo cups from the top shelf.

I love my height and I welcome the opportunity to put it to good use. By the by, it also comes in handy when I want to make some men feel inadequate. I ain't one of them man-hating types but every now and then I do like to chalk up a quiet victory on behalf of all females who've been dicked around. HOO-RAH!

In addition to fetching out-of-reach items, I've also been approached by consumers for product advice. Like, strangers find me trustworthy and crap. So, at the request of fellow shoppers, I've given informal reviews of scrod, Stroehmann Honey Cracked Wheat bread and Francesco Rinaldi tomato sauce. I even helped a poor dude pick out tampons for his girlfriend who, no doubt, was holed up in the bathroom until he returned home with the goods.

Last night I swung by the grocery store to pick up some milk and toilet paper. As I made a beeline for the Scott Tissue, a woman sporting a head wrap and a thick accent asked for my assistance. She pointed to the bright yellow sale sign taped to the shelf and said, "Yes, which of these is two for $5?"

"Hmmm, let me see... oh, it's the Double Quilted Northern, four pack." I spotted it on the shelf and handed it to her. She took it and then proceeded to squeeze it in such a way that would have given Mr. Whipple a coronary.

"No, I don't like this," she declared bluntly.

"Yeah, it's not good for the plumbing." Realizing that it could be misconstrued as a digestive double entendre, I clarified my statement: "I mean, it's thick and can clog up the pipes and stuff."

"What about that?" she asked while pointing to the Key Food generic toilet paper.

"Hmm... that stuff is kind of scratchy. I prefer this," I advised while picking up the Scott Tissue.

"Yes, I know that Scott is the best but how much is this?" she asked, again referring to the generic sandpaper-y stuff.

Clearly, this woman mistook my denim jacket for a Key Food smock and I was now in it for the long haul. I bent down and moved a few rolls out of the way to find the sticker on the shelf. "59 cents," I informed her.

"How do you know that?" she asked in a somewhat incredulous tone.

"Well, the price is right there. See? 59 cents," I explained while pointing to the sticker.

"Now how much is this? Is this one on sale?" she asked in reference to an enormous 24-pack of Marcal paper towel shrink-wrapped (shrunk-wrapped?) together.

"Uh, I'm not really sure. Why don't you get a circular and see if it's advertised?"

That is when I became useless to the woman. "Eh, you don't work here. I ask for real help."

She muttered a half-assed thank you, turned on her heel and walked away. Whatever. I just shrugged, grabbed my T.P. and headed towards the milk aisle where I encountered the same woman's son (he was her total Mini Me) horsing around on a shopping cart.

I excused myself and tried squeezing through the limited opening he left and then wham! The cart whirled around, rammed me right in the thigh and pinned me against the meat case.

Accidents happen but that fucker didn't even say he was sorry. So, I shoved the cart -- with the fucker still on it -- into the Herr's display. Um, apologies in advance to my neighbors if your potato chips are crushed.

I hate that kid. He was hogging up the whole aisle acting like a real asshole. I could just tell he was a real shit punk* who gets away with murder. He won't for long though because if he keeps that crap up, he's going to get clobbered. His mother best pick up some of that quilted toilet paper because his ass is going to need something a bit more forgiving after it gets kicked repeatedly.

Oh and, Key Food? I hereby demand a consulting fee... and workmen's comp. Now pay up before I start picketing.

______________________________
* Shit punk is a term coined by my friend Beth's 6-year-old son. He was being picked on in school by some douche bag and got so frustrated that he grabbed two words from his vocabulary, mashed them together into an insult and unleashed it. Of course, the teacher overheard and told Beth. Naturally, she advised her son not to speak like that but she gave her own friends permission to go forth and spread her son's brand-new put-down to the masses. Shit punk -- use it often and well.

sing, sing a song

I've done karaoke precisely one time in my life. Technically, it was only half a time because it was a duet with Sheila (who has a gorgeous voice, FYI). Together we tackled Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond, thank you very much.

As I recall, we invited The Lovely (and, at the Time, Very Trashed) Jess to join us but she dismissed us with a wave of her hand and said, "Nah, I've already got something in the works." Girlfriend was saving her vocal cords to take on some Britney, you see.

I'm a big ass chicken baby when it comes to getting up in front of people (hence the recruitment of Sheila). However, that hasn't stopped me from compiling a playlist of songs I would theoretically like to sing... if I had the voice and the balls. I realize some of these may not be available in the standard-issue karaoke catalog but kindly indulge me anyway. Coincidentally, this would also be my set list if I fronted a cover band...

1. The Entire Discography of One Ms. Pat Benatar
Spread out over several gigs, of course. I already know from this post that I'd have plenty of people rocking out with me.

2. Gimme Shelter - The Rolling Stones
I only want to sing backup on this song. But only when I have a cold because there's no way I can come close to sounding like Merry Clayton otherwise. Actually, NO ONE can sound like her. If you haven't paid attention to the backing vocals in this song, I implore you to do so. In my opinion (and it's just MY opinion so don't argue with me and tell me I'm wrong, music snobs), there isn't a more perfect song than "Gimme Shelter."

3. Mother Mother - Tracy Bonham
Any song that lets me emit a cathartic primal scream is okay by moi.

4. Cherub Rock - Smashing Pumpkins
Ditto on the screaming part. Oh and this song also prompts me to bang my head considerably thereby giving my curls a chance to perform like a rock star. It's quite a display.

5. Bad - U2
I would like to showcase my love of Bono when he was just preachy (as opposed to being preachy AND creepy, like he is today.)

6. My Love Life - Morrissey
When I sing along with Morrissey or The Smiths, I tend to jut out my angular Scottish chin and feign an underbite like Morrissey's. The impression is not only amusing, it could very well make you swoon.

7. Sabotage - The Beastie Boys
Just the visual of me singing this song is hilarious, don't you think? Particularly the "WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" part. Awesome.

8. I forget what eight was for...
Violent Femmes, anyone?

9. I Dig Love - George Harrison
Part homage to my favorite Beatle and also because the song kicks ass.

10. Brass in Pocket - The Pretenders
I used to do quite the sassy rendition of this tune in my car. It's high time I resurrected it, no?

11. Peace Frog - The Doors
Because I always welcome the opportunity to recite confusing poetry in the middle of a catchy song.

12. Surrender - Cheap Trick
This would be my sure-fire crowd pleaser. And at the end, I'd be sure to encourage my adoring public to engage in an extended a cappella chorus of "We're all alright!" 'Cause that would be cool.

13.Where Is My Mind - The Pixies
For the indie cred, yo.

Tour dates TBA. Potential groupies, consider the comments section your sign-up sheet. RAWK!

Note: I may add to this list as brain farts arise.

'cause i'm vapid like that

There's something really disturbing going on with my body. I'm trying not to panic but well, for the past two days something's been sprouting where it shouldn't.

I have... a cowlick. And it's a stubborn one too. So far it's withstood two shampoo and conditioning treatments. If this continues, I may need to go in for an emergency appointment with Randy, my hair god.

Please keep my hair in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you.

she don't eat meat but she sure like the bone... well, not really

The topic of my veggie-ism came up more than once this week. Fortunately, in all instances it was a very matter-of-fact discussion where I didn't have to defend or qualify my choice of diet. This was a pleasant change of pace from the usual, tired rigmarole where I'm subjected to the following reaction(s) when people find out I don't eat the meat:

1) Horror. Apparently, admitting to a preference for soy products is on the same level as saying you like to charbroil babies or something.

2) Incredulity. This is when I'm met with a litany of questions along the lines of, "Oh my God! Don't you ever want a big, rare, juicy steak?" or "But what about bacon?!"

As I respond with a firm "Nope" to each cut, brand and style of meat thrown at me, their persistence, bewilderment and agitation grows. I don't know why they care so much that I don't like it. My not eating it means more bloody filet mignon for them!

You know, meat-eaters are SO quick to bitch about the tree-hugging, crunchy types who bandy about terms like "murder" and "tortured soul" while lecturing them and thrusting literature with images of depressed-looking cows and chickens in their faces. What they put me through is just as invasive and obnoxious, if you ask moi. I don't proselytize so I'd thank everyone to kindly fuck off and leave me be with my Boca Burgers.

So help me God, the next carnivore who subjects me to this form of interrogation will be dislodging large amounts of extra-firm tofu from his/her ass. Seriously, whoever it is will be pooping undigested Tofu Pups for the foreseeable future.

Now, in case you haven't already jumped to the rather obvious conclusion, I ain't all that fond of the fur neither. I don't talk about it all that much because my preferred form of protest is to just not wear it... and um, passive-aggressively give dirty looks to people who do.

I've since learned to not get into the fur debate with people. It's a waste of time, in my experience. Like, some of the people who take me to task don't even dig fur themselves but they just like to take the piss out of animal-lovers or people with causes in general. Forgive me but I have better things to do with my time than engage in non-arguments with these annoying people. For example, I have a shower that needs grouting and some spices that need alphabetizing right after I clean the lint out of my belly button.

Some people I know in the pro-fur camp are really persistent and always try to goad me into an argument. My aunt was one of these people. However, after our last altercation, she gave up. Was it my superior debate skills that won the argument? No. A commanding knowledge of statistics and facts and figures that furthered my cause? Oh, fuck no.

It was dog spunk that came to my aid. Yes, I said dog spunk.

You see, my aunt loved to tease me by flaunting her long, brown fur coat in my face. One day she made like a matador and waved it at me menacingly. I didn't take the bait but, um, apparently all that moving and swaying of the brown fur got her rather randy mutt, Bruiser, a bit excited.

So, as the mink was dangling from my aunt's arm, the dog took a running leap and mounted the coat with the greatest of ease. My aunt tried shaking Bruiser loose and wrestling her fancy coat back from his vice-like leg grip but that wee fella held tight and humped his way clear through to a happy ending.

Yup, he left a sizable souvenir on the fur that required treatment by a professional dry cleaner. Needless to say, the aunt never resumed the debate.

The first moral of this story: Anyone guilty of harassing this here vegetarian is subject to a violent anal application of soy.

Moral numero dos: Don't tease anti-fur activists in the presence of pooch who isn't fixed. For if you do, you run the risk of turning your pricey prized possession into a doggie sex swing.

The End.

ew

This afternoon's IM conversation with Mejack, the fucking rock star behind Me Jack and You're Not...

Mejack: I am with you on the pilaf.

Yours Truly: Awesome

Mejack: "Au jus" freaks me out.

YT: Ew, that's nasty.

Mejack: I know. When I worked in a restaurant I used to say AW CHEW… Chefs don't like that.

YT: I bet it goes well with, ew, brisket.

Mejack: I am also equally appalled by flank steak

YT: Ew, yes!

Mejack: Skirt steak

YT: Ew, yes!

Mejack: Sweetbreads

YT: Sweetbreads! Ew ew ew ew!

Mejack: Sweetbread is a nice way of saying COW PANCREAS.

YT: Ew.

YT: I don't care for the word morsels.

Mejack: EW. That one is just BAD.

Mejack: You know what I hate, and this is stupid, but any kind of cut of meat that is a "chop." I know that is strange but I hate it.

Mejack: Chops. EW

YT: Oh I know! I don't like when I pass a diner and see the sign: "Steaks and Chops."

Mejack: EXACTLY

Mejack: Like pork chop, fine. Veal chop, even. But just chop? NO.

YT: Oh man. I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Mejack: My friend who lives in Colorado emailed me this morning and told me how cold it is out there and how she and her boyfriend and his dog get into their bed and have SNUGGLE BUGGLE TIME.

YT: Ew

Mejack: I know. I wrote back and told her if she ever did that again I will FedEx her a box of vomit.

YT: Like, when I'm in a relationship, schmoopie things are said from time to time... but when we're alone. I would NEVER EVER EVER tell anyone what I've said to people or what they've said in return.

YT: Oh, except that one time I told Jess some chick called me her "lover." That was troublesome to me and I had to share.

Mejack: I hate lover. Hate hate hate

YT: Ew and in the same sentence she also said "making love."

Mejack: Ew!

YT: Dude, I had sex with her on the 2nd date. We weren't making shit.

Mejack: If she worked in "caress," I would have kicked her teeth out.

YT: After I got that email I thought to myself, "Oh dear god, what have I gotten myself into?!?!"

Mejack: Ew, she said it in AN EMAIL?????

YT: Yes

Mejack: That's even worse.

YT: Well, she, um, wrote to thank me for, uh, you know, doing her and stuff.

Mejack: DEAR LOVER: I LOVED MAKING LOVE WITH YOU, LOVER. LET'S HAVE LOVEMAKING LATER, LOVER.

YT: I'm blushing.

YT: I told Jess what she wrote only because it bugged me and I didn't know if I was just being shallow and ridiculous. Jess said in reply, "Um, if things work out with this chick and I ever meet her, I'm going to have to pretend you never told me this."

Mejack: Understandable. Did I tell you about the New Light Syndrome?

Mejack: Anything can make it happen. In fact, it originated with a Velcro wallet.

YT: That is brilliant.

Mejack: I went out with one guy who during the regular get-to-know-you chit-chat thought it might be a good time to go ahead and inform me that he was into fisting.

YT: Lovely

Mejack: That is a new light but it's an obvious one. But it can be anything and you shouldn't question it if someone bums you out that quickly.

YT: That's profound. Thank you.

all the small things, part 4

After a wee hiatus, I'm picking up where I left off here, here and here.

31. I don't like the word "pilaf." I'll eat it but I don't like the word one bit.

32. I still have a woobie that I sleep with every night.

33. I take my woobie with me on overnight trips... even business ones. I can't sleep without it.

34. I cut the woobie into two pieces and gave half to THE EX. After we broke up, she gave me back another sentimental gift I'd given her... but she kept the woobie. No one can resist the allure of the woobie.

35. I use the words "dude," "awesome," "like" and "anyhoo" far too much.

36. I don't use the word "circumlocution" nearly enough.

37. The difference between "secular" and "non-secular" always trips me up and sends me scrambling for the dictionary.

38. When I was a kid, I won a game of Scrabble through a contest sponsored by Alpha-Bits cereal. I didn't tell my mother I entered so she yelled at me when the UPS guy came with my prize because she thought I ordered something C.O.D.

39. I was the type of kid who would order something C.O.D.

40. My favorite joke (aside from the whole Helen Keller series, of course) goes a little something like this:

Q: Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?
A: Because it was dead.

Thank you, ladies and germs. I'll be here all week.

Numbers 1-10
Numbers 11-20
Numbers 21-30

the following takes place...

Hi, my name is Curly and... I'm an addict.

I guess my addiction started about two years ago. It was a simple, casual dalliance at first. I mean, I could go several weeks without a fix and still be highly functional. I had rather intense cravings but I wasn't overly concerned with them. They didn't dictate my life.

But recently, something changed. There's an insatiable beast inside me that scorches my insides with flames of rage and anger when it's not sufficiently fed.

I can't concentrate. I'm focused solely on achieving that euphoric high that comes courtesy of my master. I crave the thrills and chills, the ups and downs, the elation and release it provides me.

In its absence, I'm strung out, distracted and discontent. I'm trapped between a state of fantasizing about my last fix and anticipating the next one. All I want to do is get back on the roller coaster. I have no motivation other than this.

My name is Curly and I'm addicted to... 24.

Yes, it's true! I'm obsessed. I recently Netflixed the first season and I've been zipping through episodes faster than Kate Moss blows through an 8-ball. The thing is, I've seen the later seasons so I already know Mrs. Bauer bites it and that Nina Myers flips but that's not hampering my enjoyment in the slightest. If anything, it's only made it better because I'm always thinking to the future and trying to snap the pieces together.

I am consumed. The last 4 episodes should be in my mailbox when I go home tonight. Wait, let me rephrase that... the last 4 episodes BEST be in my mailbox when I go home tonight. Mama's not too pleasant during the withdrawal, you see. But I'm kinda torn. I'm looking forward to the conclusion but I'm already feeling despondent. It's like finishing a good book. While it's great to get to the end, sometimes I'm just not ready to leave. Sigh...

If you have suggestions for similar programs that will satisfy my supsenseful jones, kindly leave them in the comments. I don't watch many hour-long TV shows so I really haven't seen shit if that narrows it down for you. Thank you!