the magical tale of mr. coffee

Sit back, my friends, and you'll hear a tale of a common household appliance embarking on a magical journey. It's a story that is close to my heart because I was there at the birth of this odyssey.

No, I'm not high.

See, it all began on Saturday night right outside the "Secret Bathroom" at the big ol' Beer Garden in Astoria.

Actually, wait, no... this story really begins back in November when I went to the Beer Garden with The Lovely Jess, Azee, Meg and Celine, who, while Canadian, is not to be confused with the chest-thumping warbler of power ballads bearing the same name.

It was back then that we discovered that in addition to serving up pitchers of Belgian beer and enormous plates of kielbasa, the Beer Garden is also a veritable treasure trove of random found objects in and around its bathrooms.

For example, Jess located a pair of stray yellow undies on the TP dispenser in the onesie bathroom near the bar. Sadly, the discarded drawers were removed before she could go back with a camera and a pair of tongs (to photograph from different perspectives, see).

Later, we realized there was a less-crowded bathroom on the second floor that was devoid of long lines as well as dirty panties draped all over the fixtures.

Even bigger bonus? We discovered a stockpile of random crap right next to the bathroom. So, naturally, we began poking around and playing with it. Um, wait... after writing that sentence, I feel I should explain that despite its close proximity to the bathroom, this wasn't actual crap we were playing with. It was just, you know, crap... Brick-a-brack... Junk, if you will.

So anyway, I took quite the shine to a child-sized aluminum crutch that was adorned with a rather pathetic lone strand of pink gift-wrap ribbon. Side note: Wow, what a shitty birthday present to give someone.

Now, as one is prone to do in this situation, I leaned all 5'8" of me on the crutch and began hobbling around while saying, "God bless us, everyone!" in an English accent.

I know what you're thinking: "If I had a nickel..."

So, fast forward to Saturday night... word around the Beer Garden was that the wee crutch was spotted... under the arm of a drunk chick who was doing her own imitation of Tiny Tim.

My friends, I do believe that not only does my soul mate exist, she hangs out in nearby Queens. Clearly, I need to track her down and make her my woman.

Not to be outdone and certain there were more tchatkes to be found and jokes to be made at the expense of the crippled and infirm, the delightful Megan and I took a trip to the Secret Bathroom... which, as it turns out, is not so secret anymore because I had to wait in a damn line every time I needed to pee.

Who told?!?

But that's neither here nor there. Actually, it's kind of relevant, come to think of it. That wait time is what gave Megan and I the opportunity to really rifle through the stash. And guess what I found? Another crutch! This one was full-size, yet ribbon free.

Seriously, what is up with all the abandoned medical supplies at this place? Like, does Jesus swing by on occasion to perform miracles? "You are healed. Go forth... but leave the crutch. Yes, right there next to the bathroom. Thank you. Next!"

Finding a second (different sized) crutch really boggled my mind. But not so much that I couldn't manage to do a bit of improv with found props when given the chance.

Now because I'm loathe to repeat myself, I dropped the Christmas Carol routine from my act and opted instead for something in the military realm. I was feeling patriotic, I guess. So I tucked the crutch under my arm, raised it to a 90 degree angle and made like Rambo squeezing off a few rounds. I may have even said, "I'm your worst nightmare."

Meanwhile, Megan had set her sights on an abandoned coffee maker sitting on top of an empty coat rack. She lovingly removed the coffee maker from its sad berth, dusted if off and declared it hers. I witnessed and encouraged the "adoption," shall we say, and after posing for a picture taken by a girl who looked too scared and confused to refuse our request, Megan, the Coffee Pot and I began the first leg of this magical journey.

For the rest of this this heartwarming tale, go check out Megan's site. Two words: photographic evidence.

'cause if i was an oscar meyer weiner...

Thanks again to everyone who came to the first-ever Weenie Roast! I had no idea what to expect in terms of turnout but hot damn, we represented! Give yourselves a high five.

It was awesome to see everyone mingling, socializing and getting to know each other. No poor souls were neglected and shunted off to the side looking all forlorn and rejected. You know, kind of like how I felt during my college years when dragged by my friends to all those miserable bars in Jersey (with the exception of the venerable Aldo's, God rest him, er, it?)...

But everyone at the Weenie Roast was all social and cool like Fonzie even though it was hotter than... uh... you know, something really hot.

Sorry. I'm still tired. Work with me here.

I'd like to give a wee shout out to Helen the Felon, my co-conspirator in yesterday's shenanigans. Sadly, she was unable to join us but she was there in spirit. Helen, you were missed, like, a lot and stuff. Get well soon and get your sweet ass back to NYC so we can be irresponsible and inappropriate together tout de suite.

Here's the list of attendees* so y'all can schmooze/stalk/spam each other:

:: Annie

:: Big D

:: Bird on the Wire NYC

:: Cheryl B

:: Christine

:: Confessions of a Southern Boy in Yankee Land, aka my future showtune karaoke duet partner. FYI, get me drunk enough and I'll attempt "Another Hundred People." Sondheim, yo. Because I'm hardcore like that.

:: Crash and Byrne

:: Evan (Honorary Lesbian)

:: Gena

:: Haviland

:: House of Jero

:: Hyperdonut

:: JC and Marisa, two of my most favorite people ever

:: Joe.My.God.

:: The Lovely Jess (Honorary Lesbian and original Rug Rat)

:: The Lunar Gemini

:: Paul

:: Phoebe's Phather

:: Post No Bills

:: Royspeaking

:: Rusty's Balcony, undisputed winner of the Longest Distance Traveled Award. Rusty came all the way from Austin, TX for this soiree. Makes me misty, it does.

:: See My Briefs

:: Stephanie (Honorary Lesbian)

:: Surplus (Honorary Lesbian)

:: This Girl Called Automatic Win

:: Tina-cious, winner of the Most Gracious Deflection of a Pick-up Line by an Aging Lesbian Wearing a T-Shirt with a Double Entendre on It Award. Tina smiled and explained her marital status (to House of Jero) whereas I begged off with a story about being in some cult which required me to take part in orgies with various reporters on the NY1 news team. FYI, George Whipple? Surprisingly well hung. You know what they say about the size of a man's unibrow...

:: Uffish Thoughts

:: Zaedryn

:: Zeebahtronic and L

Thanks to Cattyshack for hosting us. And thank you all again for coming! At the very least, I hoped for a modest showing but you exceeded my expectations and then some. So, thanks. I'd love to do it again soon, preferably when it's not so hot and I don't look all clammy and pitted in every photo. So, how about we reconvene in the fall? Suggestions welcome!


* If I inadvertently left anyone off the list, I sincerely apologize. Just let me know and I'll right my wrong ASAP.

digestion

I am pleased to report that the Weenie Roast went off without a hitch. Sure, it was hot as balls up on the roof deck and based on the way I soaked through my shirt, I really should by all rights rename myself Schweaty McArmpits. Lawdy, do I perspire.

But gnarly glandular issues aside, it was awesome. I met loads of cool new people and reconnected with plenty of familiar faces. I had a great time and want to thank everyone for schlepping out to Brooklyn on such a hot day. I'll post a proper recap with names later but for now, I need to go hump my air conditioner.

Before I go do dirty dirty things to my Fedders window unit, here are a few pictures I took. Forgive the paltry number but my batteries crapped out early into the evening because, like a dumb ass, I forgot to charge them. I'm sure there are other photos floating around out there that will be posted before long.

P.S. I'm a bit tired and tipsy at the moment so if I screwed up/forgot any names in the photo descriptions, help a sister out and add them in the comments on Flickr. Please and thank you! More to come...

change o' date for the weenie roast

Greetings! The date for the first-ever Weenie Roast has been changed to Sunday, July 15.

Click to enlarge

When: Sunday, July 15, 4PM - ???
Where: Roof Deck at Cattyshack
249 4th Avenue, Brooklyn;
(between President & Carroll Streets)
Directions & more info: cattyshackbklyn.com

UPDATED: Weenie Roast: FAQ

Thanks!

weenie roast

Whatcha doing on Sunday, July 8 15? Join me and a few of my fellow GLBT bloggers for a laid-back evening of blog talk, burgers and booze at Cattyshack here in beautiful Brooklyn, NY.

I'm totally taking a page from (aka biting off) the venerable Joe.My.God.'s wildly successful Blarg Hop here. Joe has proven on several occasions that bloggers + alchohol = good times, good times. I have first-hand knowledge of this as I attended the Blarg Hop in February. 'Twas a hoot. In fact, there is photographic evidence of me making a dirty, filthy gesture and if my mama ever saw it, she'd say, "What's that you're doing with your hand? Shazbot?" And then when informed of the actual non-Mork and Mindy meaning, she would disown me tout de suite.

And no, you cannot see it.

Because I said so, that's why. Now drop it.

But I digress, the get-together was so much fun and it provided the opportunity for many a mutual admiration society to come face-to-face.

Since the kick-ass Helen the Felon and I were frequently the lone vaginas at these soirees, we decided that the gay female blogging community in the NYC area needed to represent. And thus, we bring you the first-ever Weenie Roast...

Click to enlarge

When: Sunday, July 8 15, 4PM - ???
Where: Roof Deck at Cattyshack
249 4th Avenue, Brooklyn;
(between President & Carroll Streets)
Directions & more info: cattyshackbklyn.com

Gay boys, breeders and non-bloggers (oh my) welcome!

UPDATED: Weenie Roast: FAQ

*************************

Attending: Me, duh; The Ninth Circle of Helen; Surplus; Joe.My.God., Tina-cious; House of Jero; Post No Bills: New York Adventures in Banality; NY Radical; Zeebahtronic; Babs' Travels; This Girl Called Automatic Win; Meanwhile; The Misadventures of an Adult Onset Athlete; Hyperdonut; Royspeaking; Confessions of a Southern Boy in Yankee Land; Rusty's Balcony; Crash and Byrne; Uffish Thoughts; Blind Cavefish; Cheryl B; Kelli Dunham; See My Briefs; The Lunar Gemini

Let me know if you're coming and I'll link to you. Oh, and pass it on and stuff!

Thanks!

upholding a tradition of class and refinement

Last night was The Lovely Jess's Third Annual 29th Birthday Party. A good time was had by all. Like, a REALLY good time. Actually, I expect nothing less because in the years that I've known Jess, her birthday parties always prove to be a reliable breeding ground for fun times, solid hangovers... and incriminating photos.

For example, here's what yours truly was caught doing back in 2005:

And here's what I was caught doing in 2006:

I had to break with tradition this year because we had a change of venue and there were no pitchers at our disposal. With a lesser group of people, I would have gone home without any photographic evidence of my obvious class and propriety. But lucky for me, I roll with a group of people who really know how to improvise so I'm happy to report that the tacky tradition is alive and well:

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Summer for making my itty bitty titties appear to have some semblance of girth to them. She not only photographed my girls, she instructed me how to push up and in for maximum effect. At the same time, I'm a bit disheartened that the rather sad-looking wee bump you see above is considered "maximum effect."

Lest you think I was the only one baring my chest, I'm happy to report that we all got in on the act, man and woman alike. For these and many more silly photos, check out my set on Flickr. Hee hee... I said "set."

P.S. Happy Birthday, The Lovely Jess!

under britney's influence

This past Saturday night, my family convened for dinner to celebrate Mama McDimple's 70th birthday. The Adorable Six-Year-Old Niece arrived at the restaurant shortly after I did and immediately claimed the empty seat to my right. We had no sooner exchanged hugs and kisses before she lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper and breathed, "I have a secret to tell you."

"You do? What is it?" I asked.

Her big green eyes widened and her lips tightened forming a super serious expression on her cute wee face. She then cupped one hand over mouth and talk-whispered, "I forgot to put on my underpants... Don't tell my Mommy."

Ah, the perils of letting children dress themselves.

Oh, and apparently The Equally Adorable One-Year-Old Nephew was caught waddling around my parents' family room the other day holding two bottles of (unopened) booze he snuck from their bar.

Yup. There's absolutely NO question these children are related to me.

blarg hop 2007

Last night's second annual Blarg Hop was a great success. I staggered in the door around 5AM and begrudgingly rolled out of bed at 3PM today. A sure sign the evening went well, no?

In addition to downing several beers in quick succession, I had the chance to put faces with blog names and reconnect with some bloggers I've met before. Great conversations ensued and I will be beefing up my blogroll tout de suite. They are seriously the nicest group of guys. And a special shout-out goes to the ever-foxy Helen, my co-vag in the evening's proceedings.

The one and only wrench in the works occurred at The Cock (one might say that's a sweeping statement about my entire life, being a big ol' lesbo and all). It was wall-to-wall men in there so getting from Point A to Point B was a bit of a bother. The quantity of people and the rather aggressive way they pushed through the crowd caused me to remark to Joe.My.God.: "It's like a Jersey club in here!" To which Joe quickly quipped, "... A Jersey club with men blowing each other in the corners!" Indeed.

So Helen and I decided to seek out the less-crowded confines of The Urge next door. On our way out, two mohawked men looked at us disapprovingly and one spat, "Why don't you go home and watch Desperate Housewives!" Well, I never... uh, watched that show. Seriously, I haven't. But from what I understand, isn't it gayer than gayest gay thing ever? Kind of like a modern day Sex and the City? Whatever. Helen dismissed them with a well-aimed "Twats!" and we kept trudging forward until we were finally free of the huddled masses.

Later, she and I mopped up some of the alcohol with mozzarella sticks and grilled cheese at Odessa before finally retiring in the wee hours of the morning.

And that's my story. Want more? Joe.My.God. posted a bunch of photos and will be linking to all the recaps. Thanks, Joe, for organizing the event. To everyone else who was there, it was really great meeting and talking with you all. I can't wait to see you at the next one!

mmm... cirrhosis

Good morning! Guess who just woke up? Rolling out of bed at 1:00 PM is all sorts of fun. Actually, bed is not quite accurate... it's more like loveseat. I didn't quite make it to my bed, you see. I got home last night, took off my coat, turned on the TV and then passed out about two seconds later fully clothed, makeup still applied, hat still perched on my head and glasses dangling from one ear. So hot. Shocking that I'm single, no?

I've pretty much been inflicting damage upon my liver for about two weeks straight. 'Tis the season, after all! Last night's round of vital organ abuse came in the form of The WYSIWYG Talent Show. I was there along with Joe.My.God., Aaron, David and Tom rooting for the incredibly awesome Helen Damnation as she took to the stage in her first WYSIWYG appearance. I love the girl for many reasons already (farting on a homophobe, hello?!?!) but anyone who can lead a Springer chant of "WE LOVE LESBIANS!" after her set is okay in my book. Forever.

Last night's show was themed "I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am." Helen's hilarious tale of copping a squat in Times Square earned its rightful place in the annals (tee hee hee -- I said "annals") of the WYSIWYG archives. Well done, my friend. Well done.

I was also thrilled as thrilled can be to see Dan Renzi in the flesh. Dan, you see, was a cast member of The Real World: Miami season. I ain't even gonna front -- I love The Real World. Each and every increasingly ridiculous season of it. My love for RW is exceeded only by my adoration of The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. In fact, I've documented this love often on this here blog. See here, here, here and here.

Emily Epstein treated us to a tale of bungee jumping while bombed. I dare say it would take more than alcohol to give me the nerve to fling myself off a bridge tethered to a big ol' rubberband. Coincidentally, I saw Ms. Epstein performing the night before at Chicks and Giggles at Mo Pitkin's in the East Village. Total happenstance, mind you, but it's like Emily Espstein is Phish and I've become her ardent follower. See you tonight, Emily?! Hee hee.

I was at Mo Pitkin's for a Hanukkah party thrown by my friend Amy. Even though I've never spinned a dreidel before in my life (SHOCKING considering my tri-state area upbringing), I proved to be a real ringer. My speed, velocity and spin were quite impressive for a goy like me. The Jews at the table were impressed. Mind you, I didn't land on gimel but whatevs, I displayed a lot of style in my otherwise unsuccessful attempt. I represented the Gentiles well, I dare say.

I'm now on a well-earned vacation. I've barely started my Christmas shopping so I've got my work cut out for me the next few days. I know I promised a series of reviews of holiday specials (something you were all dying to read, I'm sure) but well, fuck it. I didn't have time. Next year.

I will try to check in before I go home but if not, Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. You'll just have to wait to get your Kwanzaa greetings next week, bitches.

firecracker firecracker, boom boom boom

Happy um, 4th of July, everybody! I apologize for the delayed Independence Day wishes but I've been a busy girl the past few days. Last night I hosted my second annual rooftop fireworks viewing party and it required a bit o' prep work. The result, I'm happy to report, was a success, if I do say so myself.

I have a stunning view of lower Manhattan on the roof of my building. The Macy's fireworks set off on a barge near the South Street Seaport were this close to us. My apartment is tiny, the fixtures need updating and the occasional unwanted visitor gives me pause but I have to say that my location, particularly on the Fourth, makes my exorbitant rent worthwhile.

So yes, the party went well, despite the size of my studio and the amount of bodies packed into it before and after the fireworks show. It was, uh, cozy. Yeah, cozy. That's the word.

Mmm... The Lovely Jess made the most kick-ass guacamole I've ever had the good fortune to eat. Stephanie made an awesome cilantro salad with a most intoxicating aroma. Zoe hooked me up with a delicious batch o' homemade potato salad and Ruth came bearing chocolate chip cookies that almost gave me the big "O" after one bite. I and my guests were well fed, yo. Thanks to everyone who graced me with gifts of food and beverage and most importantly -- your company. 'Twas much appreciated.

Mama and Papa McDimple even made a showing! My ma, despite her thick Scottish accent and abiding love and devotion to her ancestral land, was wearing a shirt that said: AMERICA. Perhaps it's the PMS talking but it was so damn cute, I could just cry right now. My father entered my abode toting vodka, gin, flavored crisps (potato chips for you Yanks) and two bottles of wine in a Green Bay Packers duffel bag. Not sure where he acquired that since we were always a Giants household but whatevs. Who am I to quibble when the contents were so savory? Oh and there's also the matter of me not really giving a rat's ass about football...

I really love watching my friends interact with my parents. They are always mutually smitten. During a private chat, my father complimented me on the company I keep and that, to me, is high and valuable praise, indeed. Good stuff. Oh, and if memory serves me correctly, I only had to do one Scottish to American translation for one of my friends. Otherwise, there was no "language" barrier. As my da would say, brilliant!

Unlike last year, I didn't take any pictures of the fireworks because my efforts one year ago yielded this unfortunate result. Linus, however, had two cameras and tripods on hand to catch this year's impressive display from atop my roof (right).

If you haven't checked out Linus's photostream, I urge you to do so right this very instant. His pictures take my breath away. Linus lives just a few blocks from me so he photographs a lot of the sights I see just about every day. Despite my familiarity with some of his subjects, I still gasp, squeal and clasp my hands together in wonder at his unique and gifted perspective.

Linus also has one of them there blogs and if his way with a lens isn't enough to make you envious, the man crafts words in ways that will stimulate your intellect one moment and break your heart the next.

He also knows his way around a beer selection. I'm currently enjoying his contribution to last night's festivities: Dead Guy Ale. Linus, this shit is good! My subsequent buzz is as robust and full-bodied as this delicious brew. Thank you!!!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to crack open another one...

on tequila! and tattoos

This past Saturday, I braved the rain and the 2 train for a rare weekend trip to midtown. Normally I avoid the area like the plague on non-workdays but I had a damn fine reason to be in the otherwise loathsome (for moi) vicinity: TequilaCon '06.

Several months ago, Jenny of Run Jen Run spread the word that a night out for boozing bloggers was in the planning stages. I was intrigued. True to her word, Jenny followed up a few weeks later with a firm date and an agenda. I was impressed. I can't organize my way out of a paper bag, you see.

Just when I thought Jen couldn't be any more fastidious or detail-oriented, girlfriend hooked me up with a spreadsheet listing all of the invited guests complete with hyperlinked blog URLs. There was even a confirmed guest column! Damn.

Excellent -- and somewhat alarming -- use of Excel, my friend. Next year, just so you know, I expect pivot tables and scattergraphs plotting the blood alcohol level of all the intoxicated attendees. A year-to-year comparison would be ideal if you can swing it. You set the bar high this year, missy, so you only have yourself to blame for this assignment.

At the very successful shindig itself, I swigged several Hoegaardens, wolfed down a veggie burger and flapped my gums plenty. I do believe I left before the hard-core shots were consumed but my jeans got in on the action. Check this out:

Jenny christened my jeans with a tequila pop. Accidentally, of course. And then she hooked me up with this boss tattoo:

My arm is the pasty one on the left. If you're wondering why mine is so faded looking, it's because I wanted to be a badass with a been-there-done-that attitude, therefore I opted for a used tattoo. The idea was that I'm such a badass, I already need a touch up. Hot, right?

Here are some of the fine bloggers I had the good fortune to meet (and my feeble mind can recall):

:: A Fish on a (Misspelled) Bycicle
:: Cotters in My Tummy
:: Daughter of Opinion
:: I Hate Kit Kats
:: Internal Monoblog
:: NYC Gadget Girl
:: Oi Vavoi
:: One Child Left Behind
:: Sad and Beautiful World
:: True Blue 4ever
:: And last but not least, the blog-less Vivian

I had a fabulous time and it was great meeting you all. Hope you enjoyed your stay in NY. Here's to TequilaCon '07!

Photos courtesy of Jenny

in keeping with tradition...

... started last year, I once again partook in some very lady-like behavior at The Lovely Jess' birthday shindig last night. Check it out:

For more pics from last night's debauchery, please click here. I'm too lazy to caption the photos beyond the generic location (thank you, Flickr batch operation!) If you're in one of those photos and want to ID yourself, kindly help this lazy sack of shit out and post it in the comments on Flickr. Danke!

magical microbrew

Some people have all the luck. The only unexpected thing ever to come out of my faucet was a spider (sorry, Sheila!). I suppose there was some value in that since the freak-out dance I did directly after spotting the arachnid was quite funny... to everyone but me. I don't dig the bugs, you see. Nor the m-i-c-e.

Pardon all the links but I've got some new readers and I'm taking this opportunity to promote some old stuff. 'Cause I'm lazy and whorish like that.

i'm lame

Guess who got scared off by a bit o' snow? Yes, my friends, I missed out on the highly-anticipated Blarg Hop. The idea of me staggering home drunk in a foot of snow or doing doughnuts on the Brooklyn Bridge in a cab was less than appealing. So, instead, I ate Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch while watching Naomi Watts get her lesbo on in Mulholland Dr. That shit was h-o-t, yo.

Anyhoo, I'm anxiously awaiting reports from the hearty souls who made the trek down Christopher Street. Sorry I wussed out, guys. Here's hoping another one is in the works!

blarg hop

Whatcha doin' this Saturday night?! How's about hoisting a few stiff drinks with your favorite blogging 'mos and some of the breeders/half-breeders who love us? It really will be a gay old time. I shamelessly lifted the following details from the illustrious Joe.My.God.:

Event: Blarg Hop (blog + bar hop = blarg hop)

Date: Saturday, February 11th

Place: Christopher Street

Time: 10PM

What: A old school bar crawl down Christopher Street

Who: A veritable cavalcade of gay bloggers and friends, including: Blather And Bosh, CircleInASquare, Glennalicious, Joe.My.God., Moi, Perge Modo, Someone In A Tree, The Lovely Jess, The Ninth Circle Of Helen, Tin Man, The Mark Of Kane, VelleityNYC, We Like Sheep and doubtlessly some others. Bloggers interested in joining us, email Joe.My.God. to add your name to his roster.

Itinerary: (We start at Pieces at 10pm. The bars will be visited in the following order, at least one cocktail per bar, but we allocate no specific duration to any venue in case they like, suck and stuff.)

1. Pieces - 8 Christopher Street
2. Stonewall - 53 Christopher Street
3. Duplex - 61 Christopher Street
4. The Monster - 80 Grove Street
5. Boots & Saddles - 76 Christopher Street
6. Ty's - 114 Christopher Street
7. The Hangar - 115 Christopher Street
8. Chi-Chiz - 135 Christopher Street
9. Dugout - 185 Christopher Street

The rest o' the details can be found here. Join us!

flirtation

As I stood waiting for my drink at Nowhere Bar, her sinewy body sidled up to mine. I acknowledged her presence with equal parts trepidation and fascination. I decided to throw fear and caution to the wind and make nice.

At first, she inched closer and then backed away. I felt uncertain. Was she seeking my attention? Or just fucking with me in the way her type so artfully does?

She perched herself on the stool next to me and we engaged in a very superficial introduction. But that seemed to be the end of it so I retired to the maroon, tufted faux-leather love seat and dug deep into a conversation with my friend.

Several minutes in, I caught her lurking nearby. Knowing my friend wouldn't mind the interruption, I patted the seat next to me to indicate my willingness to go beyond our rather tame hello. And she obliged without hesitation.

Within minutes, my dexterous hands were at work doing their magic on her lithe, supple frame. She arched her back in response to my touch. Her eyes rolled back and she wiggled and writhed in my lap as my fingers expertly worked through her black, lustrous mane.

I was shocked at my brazen act and the ease of which it was accomplished. It's not like me to make such a public spectacle but I was held captive in her embrace and couldn't resist pleasuring her.

Seriously, I had no choice. T-Bone, the bar cat, grew quite fond of my petting technique, parked herself in my lap and then fell sound asleep for about two hours. I didn't move for fear of rousing her from her slumber. So there she stayed while I continued stroking her soft fur and chatting with my friend.

Wait... what did you think I was talking about?

on urban pirates and sketchy amusements

Jess: Hey, how angry would you be if you ran into these people at a bar one night?

Yours Truly: OMG, I hate them.

Jess: Ha ha ha

YT: Without even reading the whole article, I hate them already.

YT: Because when not boozing it up, you KNOW they go to Renaissance Fairs and speak like people in the Middle Ages and shit. OMG, I want to kill them! I'm seriously incensed by the whole notion of it. If those assholes came into a pub to plunder it while I was there, they'd meet heavy resistance in the form of my foot and a broken beer bottle.

Jess: Man, another kid died at Rye Playland

YT: Shut up! In addition to the kid who drowned on that ride the other day?

Jess: No, that one. But there was one last summer too.

YT: Wait, what happened last summer?

Jess: Some girl got killed on the Mind Scrambler

YT: Mind Scrambler? I don't remember that one. Oh, the irony.

Jess: Ha! It's the Scrambler, but in the dark with music.

YT: Oooh, that sounds like fun!!! You know, when you're not being flung from it to meet a grisly and untimely death...

Jess: Speaking of which, do you want to ride the Cyclone when we go to Coney Island tonight?

YT: But of course.

chug! chug! chug!

Here's one of my finer moments at Jess' Dirty 30 last night...

Apparently, there's a reason I got a hold of this pitcher and began swigging from it... I just don't really remember that reason. I think it had something to do with a boy I don't know puking on his brother's backpack and having to leave early. Before they exited, they handed off the beer to Azee and, naturally, I inherited it.

Um, so yeah... I polished off an unidentified beverage indirectly given to me from boys I don't know and asked NO questions about what I was consuming. Oh wait... there was one question: "Mmmm, is this Brooklyn Lager?"

I'm just the bastion of common sense and class, no?

schenectady: a photo essay

Scenes from the past weekend...





1. Jess and I stock up on some much-needed supplies

2. Jess takes the wheel of our pimped-out Chevy Cobalt. It had XM Satellite Radio, yo!

3. I fell instantly in love with this marquee so I made Jess stop the car so I could take some pictures. I snapped it from several angles and had great plans to desaturate the images and maybe add some sepia tones but the presence of a payphone and an awkwardly parked Saturn sorta ruined the old feel so I scrapped that plan. Regardless, the theater itself is majestic and gorgeous inside. It was so pretty that I'll even forgive its booking of The Phantom of the Opera.

4. I was captivated by the religious mathematics on this sign. Jess then giggled and pointed out the gratuitous thrift shoppe (fancy!) ad directly below it.

5. Some local color

6. This one was taken because I just can't pass up the chance to ridicule the donning of hiking boots in a non-mountain setting. Seriously, stop.

7. Now them's some hot boots.

8. Jess's bid to unseat the St. Paulie Girl as the new Hot Beer Chick. She gets my vote.

9. Two words: GANG FIGHT

10. A gruesome tchatke found at a store called A.J. Wright. I had never heard of this establishment before and the experience was enriching to say the least. If I want to punish or terrify someone, I now have shelves of scary plaster to choose from. They were so horrific-yet-hilarious that I had to pull out the camera. I've since named some of the creations. I call this one The Venus de Minstrel.

11. The Venus de Minstrel with Jheri Curl. Alternate title: The Lionel Richie "Hello" Bust Post Firing and Glazing (with Facial Hair and Microphone Attachment)

12. They're Just Burning Doin' the Neutron Dance

extermination alternatives

So just a short while ago I was drinking a Rolling Rock here at home while packing my bags so that I can head out to Jersey early tomorrow morning for The Adorable Four-Year-Old Niece's birthday party. That mammajamma starts at the ungodly hour of noon. This means I need to roller skate AND take pictures of little kids long before the hour of the day when I start becoming productive -- roughly 4:00PM EST. What was my sister thinking?!?!

Anyhoo, I waltzed into the bathroom to collect my toiletries only to find a big ass water bug camped out on my shower curtain.

The outside of the shower curtain.

Mere inches from me.

Now, I'm not much of a screamer. My voice is more on the husky side so I'm physically incapable of letting out a high-pitched girly squeal. So at the sight of that wee fucker, I emitted my usual throaty "WOOOH-AHH" gross-out noise and then several very guttural gasps (yay, asthma!).

In that moment, I was lacking my trusty can of Raid and clad only in my stocking feet so I was rather helpless. I was also rudderless with no immediate game plan. All I could do was gasp and panic, gasp and panic. I did not dare leave the bathroom to get my battle gear for fear that the water bug would disappear and resurface again later in the evening to terrorize me further.

So I relied on my no-longer-very-nimble mind and hatched the best plan I could under the circumstances... I threw beer at the bug. Not the entire bottle, mind you, but I did give it a good dousing. Please note that I don't normally cart my beer into the can with me but the bottle was in my hand while I was packing (still, someone has a wee problem, methinks). I wouldn't normally waste good suds on such things but this brand was affordably priced and, again, I was caught off guard. So I channeled my inner MacGyver and improvised a rather ferocious torrent of the Latrobe Brewing Company's finest in the direction of that manky bug.

Perhaps the bug is a Pioneer or, conversely, a total beer snob because he didn't hang around to lap it up. Instead, he scurried down the curtain and jumped onto the floor and hid behind the garbage can. So I kicked the can a few times in between gasps and WOOO-AHH noises.

The bug then tried to take cover under my fuzzy bath mat. But! I was somehow able to pin him to the ground with the bottom of the Rolling Rock bottle and extend my freakishly long arm behind the toilet to grab the first cleaning product I could reach. My thinking at the time was this: Rolling Rock would have more of a time-release effect so I need something a bit more fast acting.

In case you're wondering, Clorox Toilet Bowl Cleaner with Bleach is an effective way to simultaneously stun and smother vermin. Pass it on.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need a fresh beer and have some mopping up to do...

next week we teach her how to funnel...

This past Saturday was the youngest McDimple's annual raucous bash to coincide with her town's St. Patrick's Day parade. The oldest McDimple, with the husband and the Adorable 4-Year-Old Niece in tow, attended the parade and an after party right around the corner from the youngest sister's building. Afterwards, they paid a wee visit...

Things were in full swing by the time they arrived. The youngest sister was, shall we say, enjoying herself. In other words, she was totally lit. When sober, she is very practical, responsible and wise beyond her years. She is slightly less so when inebriated. The girl is prone to removing her shoes and commandeering microphones at bars. It's very entertaining for us but not so much for her when she can't find her shoes and is reminded of her off-key screeching of "Just Like Heaven" in front of a jam-packed bar the night before.

Anyhoo, after several hours of drinking, the younger sister was coaxed into performing a keg stand. Yes, a keg stand. All 5 feet 11 inches of her. I'm quite certain she hasn't done one of these since college so the oldest sister really had no indication that a gymnastic routine was on the agenda when she brought her impressionable daughter along.

Upon seeing the youngest's antics, she quickly scanned the room for the niece in an effort to shield her innocent eyes from the proceedings. Too late. The niece saw the whole thing and promptly began practicing headstands while announcing, "I want to go next!"

Oops.

My sister was a little concerned about sending the niece to school today since she has a tendency to broadcast family matters to her teachers, classmates and anyone else who will listen. If the Department of Youth and Family Services shows up at my sister's door and hauls her off in handcuffs, we'll know she blabbed.

cavorting with the coworkers

All week long I looked forward to Friday night. It was Girls Night Out, after all. Actually, this one was Girls (and Michael P) Night Out. He was the lone boy amongst a gaggle of acid-tongued dot-com chicks and he most definitely held his own. To adequately illustrate my adoration of this boy, let's just say the he played air keyboard right in my face and I didn't strangle him. I really detest when one pantomimes the playing of a guitar, drums, etc., you see...

Random tangent: I was on a date with a stupid girl once and she knew of my distaste of air instruments. Or at least she thought she did. We met up the night before St. Patrick's Day and the sound of bagpipes could be heard in the distance. My Scottish-Irish pride compels me to stand at attention and swoon when I hear that familiar, comforting wail. I expressed my pleasure at the sound and she said, "I'm surprised you like the bagpipes. You hate air instruments, remember?" Now I'm no musician but even I know the proper classifications. I was like, "The bagpipes are a WIND instrument. I have nothing against horns and tubas and stuff. But if someone was pretending to play one of these instruments by blowing into their thumb or something, it would annoy me." Dumbass.

But back to Friday's festivities -- some of us have since moved on from the job and some are still hanging in there. We still meet up every couple of months because our past and present job-related misery was such a powerful bonding agent. Our wit, sarcasm, empathy, sympathy and all other coping mechanisms served as the grout in our disgruntled mosaic. Actually, The Lovely Jess and the equally lovely Sheila are two of my most prized possessions from that otherwise-awful stint. Unfortunately for us, Sheila couldn't make it to our latest bash but fortunately for her and certain counties in Ireland, she's in her ancestral land tearing it up. Go read her gorgeous account.

So we drank margaritas and Hoegaarden at Cowgirl. Okay, I drank Hoegaarden and everyone else enjoyed the establishment's highly-regarded margaritas that come served in wee Mason jars. We ate lots of things smothered in cheese and talked lots of smack. Oh, how I adore these outings.

Some of our group hails from Long Island and New Jersey and had to leave early because of their unforgiving train schedules. I remember the days of hauling ass and sweating bullets in the hopes that the subway or PATH train would miraculously defy the rules of the universe and slow down time to get me to my connecting train. Sometimes it worked but most times I found myself cursing at the conductor of the departing train at the Hoboken station. Apparently, they have to "stay on schedule." Bureaucratic bastards that they are.

Eventually our numbers dwindled until only Jess and I remained. Our conversation went a little something like this:

"Um, do you wanna go home now?"

"I dunno, do you?"

"I mean, I could go somewhere else and have like one drink or something."

"Okay, let's go."

So off we two enablers went and had way more than one drink. Just for shits and giggles, we walked up the block to Rubyfruit. I had never been there before but I knew of its old lesbo granny bar reputation. And the reputation was well-earned. It was a karaoke-singing softball coach convention in there. There was a lot of bad fashion on display including a woman with pre-Doc Billy Ray Cyrus hair. Come to think of it, there were several Doc-era Billy Ray Cyrus hairstyles too. And lots of high-waisted jeans and vests. The girls hit the clothing department at Sears before going to Rubyfruit apparently.

Elsewhere on the dance floor, a geriatric with nary an ounce of rhythm was shaking her polyester-encased rump with two very young chippies. And she kept trying to sing along to the song but clearly didn't know the words. I give her a 1 for accuracy but an 8 for effort.

Jess and I were visibly shaken by the sight but what was most upsetting was the bony lady wearing an oversized red Tweety bird t-shirt. My back was to her but Jess tipped me off to her alarming choreography. I turned around to take a gander and was NOT prepared for what I saw. Admittedly, my dancing will never get me invited on Soul Train but Jesus, this was bad. It was like she was doing The African Anteater Ritual while having a seizure in between occasional bouts of finger snapping.

And then we got distracted when an androgynous figure walked past us. So we spent the next few minutes playing Guess the Gender. This individual looked like The Amazing Jonathan but without the facial hair. It remains the night's unsolved mystery. Well, it's actually a toss-up between that and a discarded car door wedged in between some trash on Hudson Street. However, I definitely think the unidentifiable gender was the more perplexing of the two.

Next up: Cubbyhole. For those of you not in the NYC area, this bar is nestled in the labyrinth otherwise known as the West Village. I've been to this place a dozen times and can get there from the subway, no problem. Trying to get there from points north or south when slightly inebriated is another story. So we tramped around a bit until we got our bearings and found our destination.

Jess managed to snag a seat at the bar and within minutes, a woman was talking to her. I thought I would have to step in and play girlfriend to discourage the prowling lesbo but it turns out, it was just a very drunk girl pleading with Jess to watch her seat while she went outside to smoke. She promised to buy her a drink in exchange for the favor. However, she never made good on it. Bitch.

That girl was a sloppy drunken mess with a really unfortunate hairdo. Out of nowhere, she of the burnt perm and crunchy bangs started arguing with a bunch of unsuspecting women to her left. The exchange of slurred words culminated with her hurling a GO NYC magazine at her rivals. I feared drinks being thrown and a fist fight so I dusted off my diplomacy skills and distracted the messy drunk with a request to clink glasses and just enjoy herself. It worked. She stopped trash talking and flinging reading material... and then set her sights on befriending me and Jess. Oy.

Oh, but she was frightening! She had a crazed look in her eyes and sounded like Coalminer's Daughter. I resumed chatting with Jess and another friend but Coalminer's Daughter kept poking her nose into the conversation. Literally. She didn't say anything necessarily but she repeatedly jutted her face into our little circle and stared at us all creepy-like. She'd then lose interest, walk away and wander back. At one point she asked me who I was and I answered, "Oh, nobody." She stuck out her hand and said, "Well, Nobody, it's nice to meet you." And then she declared her love for me, asked me to save her seat and staggered away. She swung by a few more times trying to remember where her seat was. She'd point at us, begin to say something, stop, then shake her head in confusion before resuming her patrol. Perhaps it was wrong of us, but Jess and I never tipped her off to her seat's location. Truthfully, it was a rather enjoyable floor show.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go apply a soothing balm as the flames of Hell are licking at my feet.

it's all fun and games until someone gets pelted with a coors light

Those of you who read my blog with any regularity are well aware of my seemingly normal family life. I've got the British immigrant parents who raised their four daughters to behave in public and at family gatherings in such a way as to not incite gossip and whispering. Even though I can be quite potty-mouthed in this forum and with my friends, I don't dare curse in the company of my parents, relatives and/or the elderly. My sisters are all the same. I don't mean to imply that my parents are stodgy and overly restrictive but we can enjoy a good laugh without introducing bodily functions and overt sexual references into the mix. I kinda dig this aspect to our relationship. I don't really need or want to hear my mother or father telling off-color jokes. I really don't.

I have two first cousins on my mother's side who are the exact opposite of us. Even though they are the spawn of my mother's brother, they could not be more different.

The female cousin owns a McMansion near the Jersey Shore and insists on hosting most holidays there. A party at her house wouldn't be complete without Costco meatballs, fart jokes and some sort of altercation between her feuding in-laws. And they can get really ugly. There are profane tirades, overturned chairs and dramatic exits. While it still shocks and appalls us, my immediate family has grown quite used to it. We just stand back and let the sparks fly... and then talk about them the whole way home, of course.

The only one who can't get over it is my mother. She's the link in this family chain yet she's the most offended by these gatherings. She has yet to successfully figure out how to tune out the male cousin who takes great pleasure in sitting next to her with a steaming plate of beans while singing, "Beans beans are good for your heart..." Um, the male cousin is 34 years old.

The female cousin has a mouth on her that could peel paint. You do NOT want to get on her bad side as she will tear you a new one in seconds flat. Her choice of language makes my mother's ears bleed. One year, the male cousin thought it would be funny to play horsey on his knee with one of his nieces. Too bad she was wearing a loaded diaper and was very prone to diaper rash. Once the female cousin saw what was happening, she screamed, "How would you like your ass caked with a diaper full of shit?!?" Oh, she's a classy one that cousin o' mine. My mother looked at my cousin with such contempt. It borders on hatred at times, I think.

The female cousin's mother-in-law is also a piece of work. She gets into fights at most, if not all, of these events. At last year's gala, she barely dodged a beer that came flying at her after she mouthed off at someone. That's no small feat considering she's morbidly obese and not exactly agile. She's also very blunt and spares no one with her take on situations. There are usually no less than three dogs running around at these functions. One of them has a severe reaction to table food and is not allowed anywhere near it. A guest did not know this and was about to feed the wee corgie when the mother-in-law bellowed from her perch in the kitchen, "Don't feed the dawg table food!!! She gets dia-rear!" [spelled phonetically for emphasis]. Ah, such a heartwarming soundtrack to the Christmas dinner.

This weekend's party saw a near fistfight between a man and a woman. Apparently there was some leftover bad blood from another party and it surfaced in the form of a lashing with a wet pool noodle. For real. All I know is that I was bouncing with my niece and a few other kids on a trampoline when the fracas took place. My nosy gene took hold and I jumped off the trampoline leaving a bunch of small kids bouncing precariously in my wake. I missed most of the good stuff but the arguments and related dust-ups that followed were quite entertaining.

I think at the next event where people are somewhat well-behaved, I'll announce my lesbianism at a really inopportune moment to keep the Springer-like atmosphere going. Every family needs a tradition after all.

a letter to the guy in charge of inventory at my key food

Dear Kind Sir/Madam:

First of all, let me say, job well done on restocking the milk chocolate/vanilla Häagen-Daz ice cream bars. I was pleased to see that you replenished the freezer with options that don't have strawberry ice cream on the inside and weird crunchy shit on the outside. Plaudits for reading my mind. It's