rebirth, or...hello, i must be going...again..

soooo.. apparently it's time for my ANNUAL blog post! (damn, it's actually been a year-and-a-half, but that's too wordy, and for the life of me i can't think of a single word that encapsulates that phrase)..... but don't worry, i won't waste this precious opportunity boring you with lists of reasons for my lengthy sabbatical... i mean, who really cares, anyway? thing is, having said that, it's kind of a tricky thing to find a suitable segway into the blogosphere again, after such a long stretch of self-imposed exile. so...how to start?



.....lame attempts at humor...?







Just don't forget our deal, Lois. I sit through this, and later tonight I get anal. You hear me? No matter how neat I want the house, you have to clean it.






.......a bit of the old self-flagellation....?




..the floggings will continue until morale improves.....or until i settle into sub-space, whichever comes first....





or, how about something hilarious from The Onion...p.s.. this is DEFINITELY NSFW , and, due to the language, will offend those with sensitive constitutions....(p.s.. thanks, mike baby, for the link)...

and yet i digress...again...

(re: my subject line..i was going to say "G-STRINGS ARE FOR P*SSIES"...but..that seemed a bit vulgar, no? and anyway, i digress...more on that later..)

..so i'm trying to make better choices in my life. replace a few bad habits with good ones. these weren't horrible, rehab-type habits ..just things that were not in my best interests. i could have done this gradually ... "properly" if you will... to maintain my effervescence, strewing happiness upon everyone i pass, as is my usual way... but i'm all about living life to the fullest and apparently going gradual just wouldn't produce the full-on drama i crave so much. so i've gone cold turkey on a couple of things, to fully appreciate the joys of withdrawal.

i've decided to give up my smokes, too. eventually. i'm quitting for the usual reasons - it's a bad habit, unhealthy, too expensive. (so if you happen to hear a news report about some withdrawal-crazed woman screaming naked through the streets clutching a bloody spine in her fists.....send chocolate.)

off on tangent #1: smoking is expensive. somewhere along the line i got some brilliant idea to buy a cigarette 'machine' to roll my own smokes......i had some sort of romantic notion about it, like i'd roll my own smokes by the fire while my husband, clint eastwood (young spagetti-western clint, chewing on a tiparillo) went out to fetch water from our well. we'd smoke our hand-rolled cigarettes by the fire at night, he'd give me The Look, and while i swooned he'd pull me to him, tighten the nipple clamps, and take me from behind by the fireplace. (sigh) but i digress.

oh, the hell with trying to figure out where i was before i digressed, let's talk about sex. alot of us people have fantasies about being spanked, or having some light pain inflicted upon them during a sexual interlude..but i read somewhere that to someone who has never actually experienced this, their brains are often locked into the idea of some romantic, "fantasy" pain. then when real life crashes upon them, when the clothespins get ripped off their nipples in the throes of orgasm, they crash headlong into the blinding, stinging heat of real pain. not necessarily bad, depending upon your point of view...just indescribably different.

and speaking of fantasies (and tangent #2)....the idea of romanticising doesn't just apply to sex. never having suffered true want as a child, i had some crazy ideas about what it was like to be broke.......i imagined myself penniless, sitting all alone at a little sidewalk cafe, sadly sipping little cups of espresso, trading scraps of poetry for food. then quite recently i ran into a bit of a money crunch and the clothespins got yanked off my wallet...shattering my fantasy laden ideas into a molten, screaming, indescribable mess...and it sucks the BIG one.

on to lighter news...it seems that in a world of rampant global warming, massacres of the innocents across all the continents, and bridges crumbling to dust in our own midst...well, at least we've finally got that whole ghastly visible-panty-line problem finally solved.

enter, stage right...the C-STRING. (which, when you actually think about it, is quite the vulgar name for this product)... these things make g-strings look like granny panties. so go to their site, click around, and appreciate this product and the photos, for their artistic nature.

i'd elaborate, but unfortunately i'm actually wearing one of these things, (i'm nothing if not thorough in my research for you, faithful reader)...and i can't string two coherent sentences together - not because of the ferociousness of my withdrawal symptoms - but because of the long thin piece of wire WEDGED UP MY ASS....

i implore you...send chocolate. or more clothespins.

raising my coffe cup to those who inspire me...

i'm working too damn much lately. at least 60 hours a week for the last year, which really complicates this whole single parenting thing i've got going. i'm a bit bleary-eyed and burned out.

three words: starbucks quad-shot. my morning crash-cart.

..and although the entertainment area of my life (to quote mist1, see below) has certainly picked up, and has brightened my existence considerably...i've just got no time... no drive, no energy... to read, to fill up, to even begin to think of how i can make a difference (....or, of late, to properly clean my house - and uh, sorry you had to see that, mike)....

i made myself a promise last night to do something about this. and this morning, before i slog off to work, i'd like to mention two bloggers whose prose give me a bit of hope...even in my current lethargic listless pre-starbucks un-caffeinated state...

1) --> mist1 ... she's a goddess, she's hilarious, and she never, ever disappoints. and even though she's going through some sort of blogging vacuum of sorts lately...she's still the best. check her out...or her occasional posts at 'burt reynolds mustache'

2) a new one, at least to me --> eric313

i've only read two of his posts, and i'm hopelessy hooked already. he's a poet and writer, and into astronomy, and he reads kurt vonnegut, bukowski, hunter s thompson and david sedaris. i know, you're hooked already too.

check 'em out... you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll prostrate yourself at my feet in acclamation...

have a spanking good 4th....

i get bored easily. combine that with my minute attention span, and i guess you can say i've explored lots of different hobbies, just waiting for one to stick. i love that about me - i'm an enthusiastic starter (-when i find a new passion i tend to fling myself into it with ferocious abandon), although i'm not always a great follow-througher. i like my hobbies the way i like my sex - frenzied, intoxicating, and hallucinatory. and with some sort of..stick. which is why i've recently taken up knitting.

have a happy 4th...and my deepest respect to all the troops who face the most horrific dangers daily and make it possible for me to celebrate all the freedoms this country offers....and who have fought for my right to say that, while i have the deepest respect for the office of the president, i am violently repulsed by the vile, abhorrent, despicable man who presently holds the position. and his vice-assistant, who will no doubt trigger the next apocolypse.

p.s.. this video is HYSTERICAL...

full moon...friday night

..i have to be at work at 6:30 this morning - which sucks on a saturday. i woke up at 3:01 a.m. to a bright full moon shining through my bedroom window. delighted to have time to go back to sleep, i did...and although it felt as if i'd slept a coupla more hours, when i woke up again the clock said...3:14.

i'm not normally this wide awake (when alone) at this time of night to fully appreciate a full summer moon, so i got up to (mom, don't read this) have a smoke on my back deck. in my underwear.

there are lots of big fat brown spiders out here next to the lake, and one of them made an incredible three-foot wide wide web between the siding and our little table outside last night. it's so intricate that i didn't have the heart to destroy it, so in the dark i made sure to side-step it as i (stumbled) outside.

there was not a sound to be heard, literally. no cars going by, no airplanes - and unfortunately, no crickets or frogs, either. not sure if they're sleeping, or if that's a scary-global-warning-sign. i thought the ducks slept at night under the eaves of the deck (and they do, but not all night, apparently), but the moon shone so bright i could see little families of ducks swimming across the lake, and the fish making ripples in the surface with their mouths. there are a couple of little turtles out there, too. in a couple of hours a blue heron will stop by to have her usual morning breakfast on the trout and black bass in the lake and hang out on the deck till mid-morning, but right now i'm alone in the semi-dark on a dead-quiet summer evening.

my cats are forbidden by the landlord to go outside, and if the oldest one (a big, fluffy black tom) gets out, he'll leap off the second floor deck and chase the ducks and raise general havoc upon the landscape..so i left them inside. and they resented it, highly. after awhile, the only sound to be heard was their claws scratching and climbing the screens so they could join me, and it kinda destroyed the peace, so, all smoked out and with nothing better to do, i came inside.

the moon was still shining into my room through the two pine trees that shade our deck. they're a blessing in the summer heat here in the valley - it's so damn hot we feel like lobsters during the summer, you end up drinking ice water by the quart bottle this time of year - but as great as those trees are, they're always dropping pine cones and tons of dried up needles and they drip quarts of sticky sap onto the deck...which gets tracked onto the carpets when you come back inside.

in the dark of my bedroom, alone, i began to ponder imponderable things...such as why would landlords put whitish-beige carpets into apartments next to sticky sappy trees? especially when they know kids will be tramping on them. they might as well whisper "We have absolutely no intention of ever giving you your deposit back!" as you scratch your pen upon the lease. when we moved into our last place, before this one, i had no ideas the horrors a 7 year old could wreak upon a whitish beige carpet..oh, but we found out. now that my son is older, i've tried to keep the carpets pristine without becoming a nazi about it, but when you have kids, they spill. constantly. and i've already had to steam the carpets once since we've been here (three months) because of the sticky black sap. of course, the sap isn't black when it leaks out of the trees, but it is by the time it saturates the carpet. honestly, you might as well give a kid a bag of potato chips and watch as he patiently rubs them into the carpet.

and then i think that if i'm gonna be awake at 3 am i should probably ponder more substantial matters, such as how can i make a difference in this world, or wtf is up with men. but no answers come. and now i've got the hiccups.

naughty lola

two posts today..because this one really cracked me up...these are singles ads placed in the London Review of Books...

Excerpted from They Call Me Naughty Lola by David Rose. Copyright c 2006 by the London Review of Books.


Ads placed by men:

Bald, fat, short, and ugly male, 53, seeks short-sighted woman with tremendous sexual appetite.

Unashamed triumphalist male for the past 46 years. Will I bore you? Probably. Do I care? Probably not.

Bastard. Complete and utter. Whatever you do, don't reply -- you'll only regret it.

I like my women the way I like my kebab. Found by surprise after a drunken night out, and covered in too much tahini. Before long I'll have discarded you on the pavement of life, but until then you're the perfect complement to a perfect evening. Man, 32. Rarely produces winning metaphors.

Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth.

Save it. Anything you've got to say can be said to my lawyer. But if you're not my ex-wife, why not write to box no. 5377? I enjoy vodka, canasta, evenings in, and cold, cold revenge.

To some, I am a world of temptation. To others, I'm just another cross-dressing pharmacist. Male, 41.

My finger on the pulse of culture, my ear to the ground of philosophy, my hip in the medical waste bin of Glasgow Royal Infirmary. 14% plastic and counting -- geriatric brainiac and compulsive NHS malingering fool (M, 81), looking for richer, older sex-starved woman on the brink of death to exploit and ruin every replacement operation I've had since 1974. Box no. 7648 (quickly, the clock's ticking, and so is this pacemaker).

You're a brunette, 6', long legs, 25-30, intelligent, articulate and drop-dead gorgeous. I, on the other hand, am 4'10", have the looks of Herve Villechaize and carry an odour of wheat. No returns and no refunds at box no. 3321.

Ads Placed by Women:

Blah blah, whatever. Indifferent woman. Go ahead and write. Box no. 3253. Like I care.

Your stars for today: A pretty Cancerian, 35, will cook you a lovely meal, caress your hair softly, then squeeze every damn penny from your adulterous bank account before slashing the tyres of your Beamer. Let that serve as a warning. Now then, risotto?

Attention male London Review of Books readers: 'Greetings, earthling -- I have come to infest your puny body with legions of my spawn' is no way to begin a reply. Female, 36 -- suspicious of any men declaring themselves to be in possession of a 'great sense of humor.'

I'm just a girl who can't say 'no' (or 'anaesthetist'). Lisping Rodgers and Hammerstein fan, female lecturer in politics (37) WLTM man to 40 for thome enthanted eveningth.

Love is strange -- wait 'til you see my feet. F, 34, wide-fitting Scholl's.

.....but could he PUSH the bus, too...???

ok, just a thought - just how did they attach this thing?

and why isn't the camera angle just a little more...interesting?!
..i say this in the interests of science, of course....for verification...











(from metro.co.uk) (and, in the interest of full disclosure...i heard this story on the 'bob and tom' radio show this morning)


Jaja Stone thrills a crowd in Jakarta, Indonesia, by pulling a bus along... with his penis.
It was part of a strong man contest to mark the city's 480th anniversary. Mr Stone proved he had balls of steel by pulling the 8.9- tonne bus 50m (55 yards) using his genitals.

hello, i must be going...

i didn't actually intend to pack my blog away for the winter..it just sorta happened. life got hectic, the way it does... and speaking of life, i ran into an old boyfriend recently at the bookstore. he was slimmer, tanned, still has all that gorgeous black hair, with his latte and a copy of anne rice under his elbow. things are clearly going well for him, and i'm happy for it - we always got along well - but instead of wallowing in a state of pining-and-wasting away, his not-being-with-me clearly agrees with him. which blows. and sucks. with a triumphant, dripless swallow.

although i can't exactly complain about the state of my life at the moment, either. we moved out of our tiny, one-bedroom (cave) into a spacious, cathedral-ceilinged place-with-a-view of a fabulous little lake. we count fish, ducks, geese and goslings amongst our neighbors now.

i've been gone for too long, and to recount the past few months would make for a hefty magnum opus of a post, so we'll keep it light today:

-------------------

currently reading: nothing. and it's killing me. i wander around lost, wandering aimlessly. we've just moved, and all my books are still in the garage. but the next book i pick up will be Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. yes, i'm a bit late boarding this train, but... better late than pregnant, i always say.
-------------------

word-of-the-day: "sublingual" ... can't place my finger on why, there's just something languid and sensual about the way it rolls off the tongue...
-------------------

joke-of-the-day: this week, courtesy of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me on NPR last weekend - (Peter Sagal is the Sexiest Man Alive - and it's always a better show when Paula Poundstone is on) ... they recounted this old Grouch Marx joke, back from the days when Groucho was on You Bet Your Life...

Groucho: So, you got any kids?

Female Contestant: Yes, Groucho, I have eleven children.

Groucho: Eleven?! Did you say eleven kids?

Female Contestant: Well, I love my husband.

Groucho: Lady, I love my cigar but I take it out of my mouth once in a while.
-----------------------

current crush:

eddie. always eddie.