I'll talk but you won't listen to me

It's the last day of November. And the last day of this NaBloPoMo experiment. I missed one day (November 22), because I was at my parents' house and I forgot. What a bummer. I learned that I really do not have something to say every day. I learned that I probably would be better off if I could post from work (I always seem to have something to say there). I learned that when the site is acting wonky and I can't post, I panic. And I learned that planning my weekend trip to start on December 1 was very wise indeed.

a little payback for everyone

As I sat on the bus on my way home this evening, I thought, "I wonder if I could track down Karla Homolka. I think she's just up in Quebec. That's not even a long trip."

If you don't know who she is, or how reading this book is starting to make me think very bad Paul Kersey-esque thoughts, this may sound harmless. It isn't.

Now of course I would never act on these thoughts, for I respect the sanctity of human life (unlike some people I could mention, Karla!), but could I spit in her face, maybe? Just once? Or, you know, slap her real hard? I think one minor violent act would go a long way toward making me feel better. Or, maybe some non-violent torture? I promise to let her go once I get her really hysterical. If she somehow gets arrested for something new and Canadian law enforcement wants to bring me in to work the case, I'm available.

your name is deborah, deborah -- it never suited ya

Over a quick dinner of chopstick salad at Dojo on Sunday (It's the simple things, I tell you), me, Dollo y El Fano were taking advantage of the nostalgic location to sort out what our horrible nickname for one woman was.

Didn't you call her Potato something -- not Potatoey Goodness. [Yes, who could confuse her with anyone?!]

I think you're thinking of Potato Sack. You remember her, right?

Yes, at Tower Records.

No! That's Tower Girl. Potato Sack is that woman who worked at [record label].

Wait, why was she called Potato Sack again?

Well, she was all tan and leathery. And I think she was wearing a too-tight tube/sack dress that one time.

Yes, that's it. And then there was ___'s friend, at the other label. He was Potato Face.

No, I believe that was Potato Head. Not to be confused with Puppethead.

Why yes, I am a total asshole, who probably has a stupid nickname for you (that may even involve potatoes) if we've crossed paths. Thanks for asking!

it only happens once a year

I was off from work today. I took a vacation day so that I could go out last night and see Kiki & Herb do an 11:30 p.m. show (that started mercifully on time) at Joe's Pub where they played some favorite holiday standards ("Frosty the Snowman," "Fox in the Snow/Holiday" and the nothing-says-Christmas-like "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer/ Smells Like Teen Spirit/ Suicide Is Painless" medley. Was there "Deep Inside"? Yes. Was there a Jean Grae song (Whoa. Kiki, who knew?) Yes. Did Kiki do the love theme from "The Eyes of Laura Mars" and "Cancer" by My Chemical Romance? YES! It was a hell of a show.

So yeah. And before that was an edge-of-my-hard-plastic-MSG-seat hockey game (we lost in overtime.) Plus a party on Saturday. So today I did very little. There was some post-office action, a little drugstore shopping, a nap and a later excursion to the vegetable market and the pizza place. Now bed, I think. It's time. I am so not looking forward to getting up at 4:30.

girl of an age

15 years ago today I went to my first general admission, standing-only show. It was EMF at Roseland, with Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine and Cop Shoot Cop opening. MTV News had recently done a long report on the crowd-surfing phenomenon, and my mother was horrified. But I went.

PS Dang, I'm old.

make it up yourself, you don't need anybody else

When I woke up this morning, there were two strange men in my house. And I'd only met one before. So we all went out to get breakfast on the corner. They went their way, me and Dollo went back home. The scandal.*

* Of course there is a very scandal-free explanation for this all, but that is boring, isn't it? Yes, it is.

PS Now I am obsessed with Pulp again. Thanks, Emma.

some kind of life with the edges taken off

Thanksgiving was delightful, but I am so beat today. All of my muscles hurt and I can't hardly keep my eyes open.

I was supposed to go out and do something fun, or at the very least catch up on "Dexter" today, but I didn't even pull that off.

What did I do? Eat way too much pumpkin loaf (thank you El Fano!), read a couple of chapters of the Bernardo/Homolka book I've been dying for (thank you Paperback Swap!), listen to most of the latest Gay Pimp podcast and do some dishes. What a snore.

you're a nightmare to me

When I read that Cheney was going to Iraq for Thanksgiving, I thought, "Ugh, it's already miserable that these kids have to be in Iraq for Thanksgiving. Why make it worse for them?" And then I read that he didn't actually go. And I thought, "What a prick." Sorry, Cheney. You just can win with me.

i think i missed again

Oh well. At least I tried.

this could be your favorite song

February 1998: Favorite (or maybe second favorite, depends on the day) band writes a theme song on the spot for me me me. No wonder I'm miserable now. How do you top this?

Although, to be fair, tonight's glorious hockey game (4-0 win against the Stanley Cup champions, a big shutout for Henrik) was an absolute joy.

I could laugh in your face if I want, oh but I'm not going to

I was going to post this great entry about all the things I want to say at the hockey games but don't, but all I can remember is a general, "If you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to punch you in the mouth, you stupid fucking fuckhead" or something.

Oh, yeah, now I remember one! So there's this guy who is there for some games, and the camera finds him, and plays "Strike It Up" by Black Box (a classic, clearly) and he dances like a madman. It's wonderful. So some dumb woman who obviously needs a swift elbow to the nose decides to smack talk him on the escalator on the way out. "Imagine, you're like 30 years old or whatever, dancing like an idiot on camera. Why would you do that? Why do they even show it?" (I honestly don't remember exactly what she said now, but it was something like this, negative, pointless, bitchy.) And so, if I'd talked to her, I would say "Why does he do it? Why do they show it? Because it's awesome. Because he's awesome. Why don't you shut your mouth until you have something worth saying you dumb fucking bitch. PS Push me again on the way down the stairs and I'll get you to the ground floor real quick." (There's a lot of cursing in these, because it is a hockey game.)

Also, I would just like to take this opportunity to tell that guy who sits behind me (I could totally read him now and call out his section, row and seat, but I'm a punk) to never talk ever. No one cares about how awesome it is in Canada. No one cares about the craptastic Toronto Maple Leafs (the bastard outlaw cheaters of the league -- if it was a barfight, they'd bite) and how there are three parades in Toronto every time they win a playoff game (Oh really? That is the saddest story I ever heard.) No one cares about Darcy Tucker or Tie Domi (seriously, what kind of fucking names are these?) unless it is to punch them in the throat. No one really has any sympathy for the fact that you can't get into a Montreal-Toronto game, mainly because you are fucking talking through our game, you stupid dick. Why do you have 1/2 season tickets if you don't care? No one is really going to check all the news on TSN.ca (God help us) even if you say it is the best hockey site. It's still Canadian. No one likes you, and no one understands how you managed to implant a fucking megaphone in your head (that is the only explanation for the volume at which you speak conversationally.)

And other guys behind me, you were way more fun when you brought Ira, who tried to take his cat into the game. You minus Ira equals a total snooze.

feels like one of those nights

I went out last night for a party and ended up at the wrong bar (Fat Black Pussycat instead of Fat Cat Billiards). The magic is that, despite my leaving my phone at home and having no idea where Fat Cat Billiards was, we got there in plenty of time for plenty of partying. And also had a nice time at the wrong bar. Overall, what a delight. On the way home, we didn't get a cab, though (I haven't been out in that neighborhood on a Saturday maybe ever). But we were home by 2:30 and that was good.

Today my favorite song is "Full Moon" by Brandy. Because it is wonderful and very fun for dancing as laundry is put away.

I put some more videos on YouTube.

Now I go visit El Fano, then to the hockey game. Will Jagr get his 600th goal tonight? I believe he will. Ooh baby.

PS LOOK! Henrik is on the cover of the New York Press.

dance in the poison rain

There's been a "Parental Control" marathon (it's like a twisted "Change of Heart") on in the background all day, and I haven't caught an ending yet where the kid picked a new person. Do they always go with their original boyfriend or girlfriend? What's the point?

tonight, and tonight only. whoo!

Here's another from the "Ding Dong... You're Wrong" video vault. I could write 400 books about this moment in time, this piece of a song, this lasting memory of a time when I loved one band more than most anything else in the world. But instead you can just watch it. Maybe you'll understand.

your head is used and sore, and the forecast is for more

Thanks be to lovely Briddy-B. I revisited this ol' OK Cupid delight. I needed this help with a post today. PS The result is so me, isn't it?

The Window Shopper
Random Gentle Love Dreamer (RGLDf)

Loving, hopeful, open. Likely to carry on an romance from afar. You are The Window Shopper.

You take love as opportunities come, which can lead to a high-anxiety, but high-flying romantic life. You're a genuinely sweet person, not saccharine at all, so it's likely that the relationships you have had and will have will be happy ones. You've had a fair amount of love experience for your age, and there'll be much more to come.

Part of why we know this is that, of all female types, you are the most prone to sudden, ferocious crushes. Your results indicate that you're especially capable of obsessing over a guy you just met. Obviously, passion like this makes for an intense existence. It can also make for soul-destroying letdowns.

Your ideal match is someone who'll love you back with equal fire, and someone you've grown to love slowly. A self-involved or pessimistic man is especially bad. Though you're drawn to them, avoid artists at all costs.

Your exact opposite: The Stiletto Deliberate Brutal Sex Master

BEWARE: The Hornivore

CONSIDER: The Gentleman, The Loverboy, The Boy Next Door

Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

selling records being you but still you wanna be me

Coincidence, or a clear case of Jay sweating my technique? I can't say for sure. I wonder if he took his shot in the Bowery Ballroom basement bar also, or if that red is all after effects. Either way, I bet he didn't take that photo himself. Got you there, Hov. I'm talented, son.

ladyish, waxed woman

This has a lot of bad words, but all are deserved.

This week on my #1 all-time favorite podcast, "Gay Pimpin' With Jonny McGovern," Reichen Leimkuhl won the Douchebag of the Week Award (after they read Vanessa Minnillo within an inch of her life for her hugely offensive "Ugly Vanessa" stunt) for proudly saying he's a "straight-acting gay." Oh, that went over big. A super-heated Jonny's in regular print, Linda's chiming in in italics.

Reichen, in some interview said, "Well, most of me and my friends are, you know, S.A.G.s — straight-acting gays."

Are they, Mary?

First of all, Reichen, you fucking pussy-having woman, Fuck You.

You're the face of gay America, and you're going to use self-hatred?

OK, look, I love a butch game. It's OK to pretend you're doing a little butch game to get laid. But don't fucking start with me that your whole life is that you're a "straight-acting gay" because you're "not like that." FUCK! YOU! It makes me so ANGRY!

And he's got gay face, number one.

First of all, Reichen has got gay face. Secondly, he's probably a big nelly pussy bottom.

He's taking it from Lance Bass' two-inch cock.

Yeah, from Lance Bass' little two-inch wiener. I hope you're listening, Reichen, because fuck you, you motherfucker! It makes me furious when famous gays start to act like it's better to act straight or neutered so that you don't upset the boat.

You wear sweater sets, Reichen. Stretch tees and sweater sets do not classify to me as S.A.G.

Take your moment of your 15 minutes of fame you stupid, ex-Air Force whatever. Just because you had to be in the closet — you chose to be in the Air Force, in the closet, and so you don't know how to really be gay — you think that acting pretend butch — and by the way, your eyebrows and all of your skincare is not helping with your thing you fucking ladyish, waxed woman. Fuck you, Reichen.

It makes me so angry that someone who is having their moment in the gay spotlight is going to start telling you he's a straight-acting gay, like it's cool to be that way. It's OK to pretend to be straight to get laid, or you can be kind of a butch person, but saying you're "straight acting"? Fuck you.

I live.

let's have a party, bring a gun

I just got an email advertising a Holiday Swing Ball, and I assumed (just by reading "Holiday Swing Ball" in the subject) that it meant swing like swingers, not swing dancing.

I'm sure that says something about me that I don't want to know.

what you do in your head, you do in your head

I am exhausted. And I really want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Over the weekend I fell in make believe love and quickly broke up with two people (this is how I roll).

First was that huge dude from "Kitchen Confidential" who is now on "The Nine" (we broke up because he is going to marry Dawn from "The Office").

Then was evil Ric from "General Hospital", who is too cute to be evil, plus remember when he was on "Days of Our Lives" 45 years ago? You know I had a magazine with him in it at the time. Also, he is from Queens. I can't believe he is already married.

Just to clarify, I never had imaginary friends until fairly recently (though I did think as a child that TV could watch me back).

cause a chick's gotta live

I'm still out, and I probably will still be out past midnight, so I'm trying to post this from afar. Still out at midnight? But don't you have
to work tomorrow at 6. Why yes. Yes I do. But as Missy says, a chick's
gotta live.

watch out, the world's behind you

Things I watched today:

• CBS Sunday Morning
• This Week With George Stephanopoulos
  
• Face the Nation
• Meet the Press
• McLaughlin Group
• Elton John's The Red Piano
• Paula's Party (2 episodes)
• Nigella Feasts (2 episodes)
• Laguna Beach
• Saturday Night Live
• Ugly Betty
• Smurfs
• VH1 Classic: Class of 1981
• General Hospital (2 episodes)
• 60 Minutes (in progress)

That's it? Well, sure. I didn't get up until 9:30. I also managed to spend time with two of my favorites, put a few more videos on YouTube, send a couple of long-overdue emails and make an early dinner (blackened chicken, sugar snap peas and cornbread) and dessert (Nigella's rum-spiked cocoa).

And that's good enough. I'm satisifed with today.

where does the fun begin

This is a big moment.

I introduce Ding Dong... You're Wrong's YouTube debut.
One segment down, six years of magic to go.

something for the weekend

This was a tough week. Now it is over. There aren't too many places where the midterm election and Britney Spears' divorce are equally huge. The Washington Post? Nope. People? Nuh uh. We're in a unique (and exhausting) position. And then there's next weekend. Don't ask. Let's just hope this weekend is quiet. I have shopping, sleeping and reconnecting with my fellow man to catch up on.

sorry love I'll have to turn you down

Overheard In The Office:

Co-worker: Lady Sovereign is the most disgusting person ever. She makes my wiener go away.

everyone wants to take a stab

I think I had a panic attack today. Maybe my first! How exciting. I wasn't feeling it as panic though, mostly anger.

Maybe I was panicking that I would never stop being angry? Or maybe it was a rage attack. Either way, I got so angry for so prolonged a time that I realized I'd stopped breathing. Well, I was breathing, but incredibly shallow, scary breaths. And it was taking everything I had to muster them up. It was not OK.

It would probably be helpful (as a modern log of my life) to recall even 1/8 of the events that led up to this, but I'm thinking of one now and starting to shake. So never mind! La la la!

I'm lovely, you're a mess

Was a time when it took an all-night You Tell Us pull (still working 45 minutes before I had to leave on a road trip to Canada, even) for me to place curses upon an artist for announcing a divorce. Now, it only takes an ol' 15-hour-workday to get me spitting mad over a broken celebrity marriage. A pox on them all! The rich people, I mean. Not the kids. I'll always love the kids.

I take a guess: Is someone shopping at Payless?

I found a house that I want to buy. It's in Buffalo. It's white and brick, with four bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms and refinished (super shiny!) hardwood floors. I love it.

And I found a vacation I want to take. It's in Peru. There is glorious Machu Picchu, plus a fancy hotel with a bath butler — I never heard of this, but now that I've seen the results, I know I need it.

Now I just need $120,000 to do both right. Pretty cheap, when you think about it. So pay up, someone. Thanks!

On Saturday, on my way home from running out to buy medicine, I cried all the way home. But it was laughing. Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant went through all the verses of "Old Mother Hubbard," and that mess is crazy. Seriously, crying. I should post it somewhere. I probably won't though. For I am lazy in that way. I'm sorry.

I'll serve you just to serve

Today is a very sporting day. First was the marathon, which I mark not by running 26.2 miles, but by clapping and "whoo!-ing" nonstop for three hours. It's exhausting, and probably the most athletic thing I do all year. Here's a photo I found on Flickr from today. I'm in it. So's Dollo. Can you find us?

And now the hockey game is on. It is too hot in here (or I am too fevery) to keep my new gorgeous amazing Beukeboom jersey on (#23, son!).

I feel pretty miserable again. While out clapping and "whoo!"-ing, I was not feeling pain for I was entirely into it. But now I am home and hurting again.

I really want a grilled cheese sandwich. "So make a grilled cheese sandwich" you might say. Except I don't have cheese or bread. What a disgrace. I am a grownup, with money, and I elect to keep a home that doesn't include bread and cheese? It's only now that I realize how ridiculous this is.

let's not get loud

I slept through the dark this morning. I don't do that much. I can't do it five days a week, else I'd be really late for work. But even on the weekends, I usually have a few awakenings before the sun's up. Not today. I didn't open my eyes until 7. What a delight.

Though it may be due to complete exhaustion. And all the crying. Last night, c. 7:30, I started having horrible terrible evil gnawing stomach ulcer hate pain. I looked up online how to make it go away with common household items (because damned if I had been able to find the healing power of liquid Maalox anywhere in two years), and all the sites told me was that it was my own fault. Excessive use of NSAIDs gave you that ulcer, and now you pay. Ugh. Please. I wasn't taking handfuls of asprin and Advil back in the day for kicks. I was taking them because I had a cracked molar and various other dental ailments, plus shame and no insurance. It was handfuls of NSAIDs or handfuls of don't-wake-up-anymore pills. And if you don't get that, you've never had a real toothache, I assure you.

So I had to cry and cry. I feel like web sites should say, "We are sorry you feel bad. Here is to help you." Instead of, "Way you break yourself, smartie."

So this morning I got up and went to the drugstore where not only did they have a gorgeous selection of liquid antacids (thank you, Eckerd) but also even the store brand. Now I have a huge bottle of cooling mint Fakelox in the fridge. I've downed a ton of it (plus a PretendCid AC) and still don't feel much better, but it's so relieving to know it's there.

Anyway, I blame the laundry and work for making it hurt so much again. For while stress cannot cause an ulcer (only you can, with your stupid pill-popping, Jane), I know that it can make it so angry. Wah.

If you'd sick of reading me whine about my pain, check out Pink Elephants' delightful NaBloPoMo randomizer for something much better. Sometimes.

clear the floor

I am so tired and cranky. The people picked up my laundry on Wednesday, and it still hasn't been returned. I've had a fever for about three weeks. And I really want to go to bed. I have nothing to write about. So instead, look at this photo! It is taken from my sexy hot 1/2 season ticket seat. What a delight. And the Rangers keep winning, two times in a row! This is a step in the right direction. Good times.

never bothered, never pressed

I was reading about the contents of the CMJ registration bag (to call it anything gift or swag-like is to joke) and I was remembering all the stupid crap I used to get — from CMJ, from NXNE, from Canadian Music Week.

Remember back when I was just a girl with some crazy ideas, I got to do things like go to a million shows for free? Now I have a job at MTV and don't get to do anything like that. I don't even get free CDs. What a bummer.

Anyway, I read about all these shows and adventures, and maybe it's my 18 months of sleep deprivation, but it doesn't even sound appealing to me anymore. I think, "Eew, people," which is just sad.

Dollo wants to go to a show tomorrow night, and it's early and in Williamsburg, and it's a band that [has one song that] I like. So that's probably a good way to not miss it altogether.

But right now, day 2, I'm in my pajamas in my kitchen, listening to the TV play "Easy Lover" at every single commercial break (thanks, "Grand Theft Auto: Miami Heat" or whatever the beep it's called) and glad I don't have 9 shows I'm supposed to hit tonight.

let's play catch, I'll throw the shade

Should I see "Paris Is Burning?" Is it crazy that I never have? The Gay Pimp Podcast panel is obsessed, and I think they are heaven on earth, so perhaps I should follow their lead. Perhaps I should return some of these Blockbuster movies I've had out since June as well, and have them send me "Paris Is Burning" instead. Ooh, how exciting.

I had to read some man on the way home today. I got off at Bedford after almost stabbing a woman on the train out of rage (If you were rocking stupendously uncute sunglasses, a busted haircut, a nasty knapsack and carrying five FedEx boxes on the L this afternoon, watch yourself before you crotch yourself. Or something) and when I walked by one stoop, a dude swept his pile of leaves on me. "Oh, thanks" I said to him, with suitable incredulity. He's still smarting, no doubt.

I wonder how long I can go on quoting "How to Read" by MECCA? Probably a week, that's my guess.