Sunday, December 28, 2008

Putting the "ASS" in Classy!

As the rest of the country struggles with the Recession, record high foreclosure rates and looming unemployment, Paris Hilton got a new car. Or, her old car......made nicer? Is that nicer?

I don't know what is grosser about this car..... That it looks like enough Pepto on wheels to race through the Jolly Green Giant's esophagus to cure his nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea....(SING IT WITH ME! Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea!.... Oh how I adore a catchy jingle.) Or that this car cost $200,000....

Her parents must be really proud..... I know her grandfather isn't. Just when you think she could not get any tackier, Miss Hilton reminds us that she is the most vapid, cum-dumpster on the entire planet.

Kudos, my lady.

Merry Sickmas!

It was a cool and crisp evening, with gay excitement in the air, as we left the local tavern with nary a care. As Father and I retired to our chamber after an evening of making merry, I was awakened in the middle of the night by something drippy, round and cherry! "What ever could this be?" I exclaimed while putting on my clothes, I turned on the light, looked into the mirror and HORRORS!


It was throbbing like the heart of young love in the throes of passion, as liquids poured through my nostrils, dripping onto my nightly fashions... My sinuses were a flaming whilst my head ached and throbbed with pain... My body was limp and listless, as if it twas pummeled by a train...

Oh love of lordes of light? What hath I done to deserve such a fright? How will I even awake, yet attend to my holiday duties? I cannot be expected to perform with a body riddled with gunk and reeking of cooties!

As I cursed my misfortune as I came to accept this nuisance, I heard the soft jingle of bells way off into the distance... While drawing back the covers and switching off the lights, I heard a man exclaim "Merry Sickmas to all and to all a shitty night!"

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Sunday: Watching Paint Dry..... Literally.

The holidays are upon us.... Scratch that.... The Holidays are laying on top of us like a sixteen-drunk-frat-boys-pile on. My fiance (I am still not used to calling him that, in fact, I feel kind of silly using that term..... It brings back memories of the red-neck girls I went to high school with who were all engaged by 10th grade..I digress) and I are not huge "Holiday celebrating people", but we do decorate....for the sake of the children...... THINK OF THE CHILDREN, MAN!

The good thing about the holidays? Time off.... Lots of beer..... and chocolate treats... The bad thing about the holidays? Well, besides the obvious: STRESS, DEBT, BFA (big fat ass)SYNDROME, DEALING WITH PEOPLE YOU TRY TO AVOID, aka, FAMILY.. The bad thing is living in a house that is need of constant upgrade, repair and renovation. In light of this, we are taking this time off to pay some much needed attention to our kitchen. We are painting, we are (he is) exposing brick, we are (he is) fixing transoms, we are ACCOMPLISHING great things.

The problem lies in the fact that I am really shitty at renovations. I can't paint. I mean, I can..... just not very well. I have a very short attention span. I am impatient and I lose interest in projects 60 minutes after I start them. I have boxes full of tiles when I decided that I was going to become a "tile Mosaic" aficionado.... Well, I have decided that I am going to empower myself and I am going to paint that kitchen so well, head hunters for the kitchen painting industry are going to be breaking down my door and offering me tens of dollars to become pro.

Alas, I am already experiencing a wrench in my plans.

I have to wait for paint(primer) to dry..... For like two hours before I can put a second coat on.. Then I have to wait and let the primer "cure"(are you effing kidding me?), for 24 hours.....

God, please grant me the strength to stay interested in this project for the duration................... OOH! SOMETHING SHINY!

Friday, December 19, 2008

Sha Na Na Na Nostalgia

All of the "self examining", "facing my own mortality", shenanigans I have been putting myself through lately, have been bringing a lot of memories back to the surface of my brain. As I age, my internal RAM becomes so vast and complex, memories that I haven't thought of since the day they happened can pop up out of nowhere and catch me off guard. One smell, a tiny sound bite, a certain angle of light hitting leaves, can cause a rush of memories to flood back and overwhelm me.

I was driving up Clifton Ave on the way to University of Cincinnati the other day, when I heard three guitar chords (I am no musician, so I have no idea if they were "G" or "E", or what have you), from a Social Distortion song, that propelled me back into the fall of 1987. This, in turn, brought back that awful, awkward feeling I used to have, ALL OF THE TIME. (Who am I kidding? I still wear that awkward feeling today, like a Scarlett Letter.)

My friend John is famous for stating that he is so thankful that Al Gore had not invented the internet yet when he was young, and I cannot agree more. Had I access to a digital camera and the world wide web in the seventh grade, society would have been inundated with images of really bad Siouxsie Sioux eye makeup, egg white hair-dos, and a dosage of bershon so lethal, it could kill small animals.

I won't even let my mind wander to the unbearable embarassment a public record like that would lead to in my adult life.... I know of a few people who possess certain photos of me and I still fantasize about breaking into their homes and destroying any evidence linking me to white powder make-up, Robert Smith hair-don'ts and teenage depression.

Although the cringe factor is pretty incredible when I think of the hijinks my two best friends C and K, and I would get into; I still get this warm feeling (not in my pants) around my cold, cold heart, when I think about those days.... Man, we were tragic melvins, and we had no IDEA. In our minds, we were the coolest. One day, we're at cheer leading practice, talking about Tretorns and Colors by Benneton; the next thing you know, we rented Dogs In Space,we're smoking cigarettes, we hate our parents, and all of our clothes have been ravaged by scissors and markers with "NO FUTURE" scribbled all over them.


But then again, isn't that what being a teenager is all about?

You are supposed to be misunderstood, moody, hungry and ugly. You are supposed to know everything despite the fact that your brain is not even fully formed yet. You are supposed to have no fear, strong principles and morals that are in total contrast to what your parents believe..... You are supposed to be forming the foundation for the person you are going to become...

And that is what we were doing.

Though, we were pretty bad sometimes and experimented with a lot of drugs.... We had our fair share of violent interactions with people, and, ashamedly, with our parents... It was not without purpose... We didn't like the people around us who marched to beat of the Suburban values drummer. We felt a strong need to express ourselves through art, music, clothing, and politics. We needed to stand up for what we thought was right.... We needed to stand up for ourselves and our rights to be who we wanted to be without being hassled by people who found that determination to be too scary and uncomfortable. We needed, and would stop at nothing, to become strong adults.

I'm not saying that kids who didn't do what we did are weak, or less or anything to that ilk. I am just recognizing that it was necessary for me and the people I hung out with to take the paths we chose. I think about that 12 year old girl spray painting "ANTI-RACIST ACTION" on the wall behind Krogers, and I just want to hug her.... She was a good kid and I need to remember her and her strength to stand up for what she believed in and the strength she had to stand up to those who tried to put her down........

That girl was pretty awesome.....I miss her.

Friday, December 5, 2008

I Don't Watch Telelvision


I'm just kidding. I am a big fan of the TV, I just think it is the most fantastic invention ever.

I want to address the people in the world who not only do not watch Television, but who also spend hours on Facebook /Myspace /, pontificating about the evils of television, dropping snide remarks riddled with self importance, usually in Italics, "I do not partake in TV", on friends and family member's pages.

You guys are adorable,

My question is this:

Though I appreciate your concern for my brain cells (hint, it's not the T.V. that's killing them, it's the vodka and the huffing), but are you not utilizing a tool that serves colossal time wasters like message boards, BLOGS, vanity pages, etc? A medium that lead to the rise of Tila Tequila, Paris and PErez Hilton?

Do you think anyone here is going to be impressed with your self-serving sacrifice to not watch TV? Because I am willing to bet that each person who reads that post could care less.

The majority of people on the internet are not able to spell "YOU'RE", okay? Know your audience. This audience lacks the ability to appreciate, let alone be affected by, your lack of TV viewing...... This is not the coffee house and nobody here really cares, Neitzsche.

On a somber note, why don't you like TV? Do you hate fun and happiness, too?

Please spare me the self important, "I find my entertainment in the written word" statements.......*sigh*.... Don't get me wrong, I too, love to read . I have also found that if I read a book and then watch TV, my mind does not explode and can totally handle the change between written words and moving pictures..... Surprising, I know.

I have also found in the past that people who own a TV, yet claim to hate and never watch said TV, are usually big, liars. I dated a guy who used to lament the television.....He would go on and on about how worthless it was and how people who watched it were zombies, and "yaddayaddaconspiracydoublecappucinowithsoy"
It was really obnoxious.

Anyhow, one day I came home early to find him not only watching TV, but he was watching the E! Channel's Talk Soup.

Words of truth.

He tried to act like it was an accident, but I knew. He not only watched TV, he watched the lowest common denominator TV shows and then watched the weekly shows that re-capped those shows! I was SO onto him. It even made me like him more... I was, as the kids say, really starting to "feel" him after that and found a new hope for our union. Alas, I think the shame of being discovered as a closet, trash-TV watcher, was too much for him to live with. After the discovery, he never really looked me in the eye again, and physically connecting was sparse if existent at all.....So, we broke up a few days later.

So, you don't watch television.
Good for you.

Maybe with all of this extra time you have, you can go pick up litter, or cure cancer, or something? I don't know.... Have a ball, be crazy and not watching TV with your bed self.. Just stop yammering about how awesome your non-TV-watching skills are on the INTERNET. Instead of giving the impression that you are an intellectual, you come off more as a conceited prick. It doesn't make you a more valuable member of society and it certainly doesn't win you free pizza or anything, (which I would bet that winning free food has more to do with watching TV, than not watching).

Also, remember your audience. You are trying to impress upon the community of MYSPACE, that television is bad and that pursuing more intellectual activities, is good.

The community of MYSPACE.


Wednesday, November 12, 2008

On Death and Dying (No, Elizabeth Kubler Ross is Not Here)

Recently on a forum I frequent, a young man brought up death and how it scares him. Many posters responded that the older you get, the less afraid you become of the unavoidable, and that it is totally natural to be afraid of something so unknown and permanent when you are young. There was also a consensus that you start to appreciate life more as you age; you value your days more the older you become.

This made me think.................


I am 32 years old.

Just typing that makes my skin crawl. I hate getting older, HATE IT.

I work for the University, so I am constantly surrounded by young, vibrant, energetic, hopeful, optimistic, 20 YEAR OLD, students. I watch them walk the halls, talking on their cell phones, laughing, smiling, planning........ I watch and my soul fills with envy and vileness... I feel like a Gollum.. Creeping in the dark corners of the college, observing, obsessing, coveting their youth and happiness..... I just want to jump on their childlike backs and suck out all of their joie de vivre, like some Dick Clark-esque, soul vampire.


I lay in bed at night, surrounded by quiet and stillness, gazing out of the window, at the moon and stars and their peaceful light............and I fret. I worry about wrinkles, thinning hair, fat asses, DYING........ Where do we go? Will I see my old dog again? If you get to the edge of the Universe, is there a sign? An Over-look? A camp ground or picnic area? Will Jesus really be a black man? Will there be snacks? What is holding the universe up? Was Clouds in My Coffee really about Warren Beatty?

I lay there, quietly in my bed, the soft touch of the down comforter, the comforting snore of my beloved by my side, and I obsess myself to sleep. When I finally succumb to slumber, I am assaulted via REM with dreams of doom and gloom, and life without Botox.

I know I am ridiculous. I am only 32. I am a young woman, still. I have my entire life ahead of me and I am wasting precious moments and time by obsessing over my own mortality.

I do try to stop, I do! I become very mindful of what I am doing and the self talk begins. ("Self Talk" is the term your therapist gives you to make it okay when you talk to yourself. When you are "Self Talking" and people look at you strangely, every therapist in America agrees that it is okay to tell them to go fuck a rusty nozzle.) So, as I self talk, I start to realize that I am spending precious moments of my life, wasting these moments, on lecturing myself to appreciate these moments more. It's my very own never ending cycle of ridiculousness. Try not to be too jealous.

I feel like I am slipping down a shame spiral, that my quest to be more appreciative and present, is really just a guise to trick myself into feeding my OCD. I have not been taking any medications for over a year now, and slowly I see myself slipping into these bad habits. It's hard to explain and hard for many to understand. When I tell the man who loves me that there was a point in my life, when I could not leave the house until I cleaned the entire house, including, but not limited to, behind every large appliance, window sill, woodwork, and bathroom tile crevices, he looks at me like "Hey, if you were still cray cray, our house would be a lot CLEANER."

Though he understands that I walk a thin line of being somewhat normal and becoming a prisoner to my neurosis, I don't think anyone can really understand what I am going through, unless they are as unfortunate as I am to be afflicted with this disease.

I hope one day, I will be able to not fret and obsess over things I can't control without the aid of medication. Until then, the only answer I can come up with about death is this: "I don't have time to fear dying, right now I am too busy fearing living to even care."

Monday, October 20, 2008

Copy Kitty Katy Kat

I stole this from my buddy, John at Round is Funny.

What is your favorite word?


It feels good to say it.

What is your least favorite word?

Right now, socialist. Why? Because all of the maroons out there flapping their gums about it are using it incorrectly.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

Food. I love to cook. It's a way for me to be creative and to feel in touch with my mother and grandmothers who left me amazing recipes and talent, and I feel fantastic when I make some one's tummy happy.

What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?


What sound or noise do you love?

Rainy spring and fall mornings.

What sound or noise do you hate?

People who abuse the horn on their car on my street at 12 a.m.

What is your favorite curse word?

I have so many it's hard to choose one.
I'll go with fuckstain.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

A princess firefighter.

What profession would you not like to do?
Bean counter.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

Hello Gorgeous!

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Dear Urban Outfitters,

We need to talk.

When we first made eye contact in 1998, I was smitten. It was love at first site, instant attraction and chemistry; I was sure you were "The One." Your style was just like mine, I felt like I was finally a united Gemini, I was whole. I mean, come on! A black cowl-neck sweater, with special THUMB HOLES on the extra long sleeves? I usually have to rip thumb holes in my sweater to accommodate and warm my opposing digits. But you, with your infinite style wisdom, had taken the extra step to bring comfort and warmth to the body part that separates humans from animals. WELL DONE.

It was the beginning of an incredibly, beautiful, friendship.

Through the years I have depended on your sales rack in times of trouble and despair. I have exulted in the arrival of your catalog and down right laid on the ground and cried tears of elated joy at the grand opening of your store in my town, located down the street from my house. LESS THAN A MILE AWAY.


We were reunited and it felt so, so, good.

Housewares, underwear, shoes, sundresses and giant sunglasses, OH MY! I was in heaven.

Fast forward five years and the world has changed, but do I still feel the same? I still get that little rush of excitement when I see the "UO" symbol sticking out in my pile of mail, yet that rush is soon followed by an empty feeling of indifference. The bees of excitement that would go crazy in my belly have been replaced by a regular, squishy feeling. The thrill of the first scent of commerce upon walking through your doors used to make me giddy and now makes me feel nothing.

It's over.

This conclusion was not an easy one to come to. I came to this conclusion after much denial and personal anguish.

I have outgrown you.

I know, I can't believe it either.

I was born in 1976, and though I was only in "short pants" when 1980 rolled around, I remember the Eighties quite well. I also remember what people were wearing whether fashionable, or questionable. There are many trends in the Eighties that I liked, and still think are flattering and beautiful.

HOWEVER, there are many trends from the Eighties that should be erased from our memories, vaulted in a nuclear bomb shelter, never to be remembered again. Unfortunately, these trends make up about 88% of your summer and fall line for 2008.

The truth in my outgrowing our relationship, is evident in the old adage, "If you remember a trend the first time around, you are too old to wear it the second time."

Such infinite wisdom from such clich├ęs, I know.


Your line is seriously fugly, completely unflattering, and the materials you are using are egregiously cheap.

Pardon my French, but where the fuck do you get off? In order to wear any of these shapeless frocks without looking like a hippo in a mu mu, a young woman must only weigh about 90 pounds. Young women like to be "hip" and "cute" many, who have healthy, beautiful, bodies, don these garments and they look like shapeless, blobs with no waists, curves or butts. Not a good look for 90% of American women.

Also, let's talk about that hemline. Did Patsy Darling finally snap her fingers to raise hemlines so high that we are all now aspiring gynocologists? I am down with a "mini", I am not down with being able to spy a strangers dungarees in the event of a cool breeze.

Also, what is up with the banded bottom?

Anyone who tries to wear this dress that has even the slightest shape in their hips and thighs, ends up looking like a bubble sack. In fact, the last time I saw someone wearing an outfit like this was when Blanche Devereaux pranced around the shuffleboard deck on the Swinging Seniors cruise she, Dorothy and Rose took to Mexico.


And finally, may I present the most damning of evidence that you, Urban Outfitters, are perpetuating the "fugly".

You cannot be serious. Please, please, please tell me this is a joke!


The only people who should ever adorn their feet with these abominations are those terminally lost in the crowd at a Tesla concert in 1987, Native Americans during a peyote ritual, or trailer park Satan Worshippers/Renaissance Fair actors.

They are just WRONG.

Based on all of this damning evidence, I have come to the conclusion that it is time to sever all ties with you and not just because I have outgrown you, but because your beauty has worn off, the looks have faded and you are a shell of your former self. I hate to be harsh, but I have to be strong.

I will miss you and the times we had together. I may reunite with you in the future for brief flings with drastically-reduced-in- price picture frames and bedroom quilts, but our apparel days are over.

It was good while it lasted, but now, it is time to bid "adieu."

Take care of yourself and tell your sister, Anthropologie, I said "s'up."

The Confused Dildo

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Men in Cars

Dear Men in Cars,

When I am running down the street, wearing a jogging suit and headphones without a Ben And Jerry's delivery truck in front of me or a heard of elephants chasing me, it is safe to assume that I am doing it on purpose.

So, I don't need a ride, thanks.

Now, I know gas is expensive these days and you just circled around the block three times to "make sure" I didn't need a ride, (thanks for your concern and diligence, by the way), but I really don't want a ride. I know that sometimes when you are being generous and your random act of kindness is rejected, it can be frustrating! However, it is probably better for you to quell your disappointment, lest you say something unnecessarily MEAN.

You see, the reason I am running down the street is because I am aware of the fact that my ass if fat. Maybe you were pointing that out for my benefit, in case I was not aware? If so, thank you for your concern, I know I have a big, fat ass, running usually alleviates this condition.

Now, when I suit up to run, I wash the make up off of my face and throw my hair back, haphazardly, in order to keep it out of my face, as well as keep the sweat out of my pores. I will admit, I don't look so hot. When you add this to the fact that my blood is pumping and my smokey, "pool hall", poor excuses for lungs, are in overdrive to get oxygen to my blood cells; the tendency is that my face is usually a disturbing shade of fuscia, or puce, if you will.

Not the best look, I know, but I am aware of it. When you pointedly informed me that I was an "ugly bitch", thanks for the information, but the proper authorities had already been notified and appropriate measures were being implemented, i.e. the firing squad was lining up in my backyard getting ready to humanely put me out of my misery.

So, men in cars, I want to express my deepest gratitude for your concern for my well being and for the offer of the ride. I know that these gestures are coming from a place of love and concern, and God is smiling down upon you and your deep concern for society not having to be exposed to my "Fat Ass Ugliness". Your determination and powers of persuasion (i.e. driving around the block three times to try to get me into your vehicle) were not unnoticed. Thank you for taking the time and for the environmentally harmful emissions expelled from your car on behalf of little (well not so much, due to my big fat ass), old me and my welfare. Thank you, thank you, thank you, men in cars, but may I leave you with some words of wisdom? If I am ever in need of a ride within the city I live, I will take the bus.

Kindest Regards,


Friday, March 21, 2008


Our house is located in the middle of one of the oldest, "old growth-forests" in Cincinnati, Parker Woods. I have lived in my house for four years and I have never seen head nor "hoot" of an owl near our house. I knew they had to be there, in fact, I had heard them in the distant corners of the woods, but had not seen nor heard any in our backyard.


Apparently our little corner of the woods has become some sort of "den of vice" for owls looking to procreate, or maybe to engage in more nefarious shenanigans?

The owls, oh boy, the owls! They are loud and they sound scary! Especially if you have never been five feet away from two owls having some sort of "discussion."

The first night I heard the chaos was last Sunday while Mr. Hotbuns was still out of town and the little ones were at their mom's house. I was all ALONE in my very dark bedroom.... by myself....TOTALLY ALONE....Except for the cat. I was awakened by this very loud "OOH OOH OOH!" and then the sound of very large, very powerful, wings flapping right out side the window. (Though at the time it seemed like this was going on right in front of my face.) This disturbing ruckus made me think there was a Ring Wraith outside of my window on a flying dragon.

Then I heard ""OOH OOH OOH!!!!!!!""" again followed by a high pitched, Fozzy Bear, "WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA!" and then some more, pretty serious, flapping noises.
It sounded like a duel between two cracked out unicorns.

The thought running through my mind?

"Yo' ass is grass, Frodo Baggins."

After I was done crapping the bed, I grew baby balls, big enough to come out from under the covers and look out of the window. As soon as I peered out towards the yard, two, GIANT OWLS flew right in front of my window! I could detail their feathers, they were so close.... I jumped back, fearing I was going to get "winged" in the face, they were so close.... Which, in turn, sent me back under the bed.

After I self talked myself out of my panic, I finally came out from under the bed, on a mission to figure out what the hell just happened. I approached the window, trying to remain brave, I could see the perpetrators on top of our shed sharing a tender moment... or so I thought was a tender moment.

I felt a wave of relief and crawled back under the covers. I mean, I had THE ENTIRE BED to myself, I needed to enjoy it. As I awoke the next morning, I had pretty much forgotten about the incident and went about my day. I chose to look at the bright side, I have owls humping in my backyard....This only means baby owls and I am a sucker for "baby" anything.

Well last night as I laid in bed, feeling total relaxation setting into my entire body, my mellow was totally crashed by the sound of Mr. Hotbuns running up the stairs calling for me:

"There is something really fucking weird going on! Oh My God!"

I sat up startled thinking that our house was possibly being taken over by the band of Mormon missionaries who live up the street, or that our drunken, crazy, neighbor set his hair on fire again, when I heard:


Oh fantastic! The horny owls were back, fucking the night away on my shed. I prayed they would just freaking get it over with and be off smoking cigarettes somewhere, commenting on how great each other were before midnight. After some more furios flapping and beak clacking, they both took flight to finish the dance of night someplace else.

After the two love birds made their get away, Mr. Hotbuns and I started to discuss what had just happened and how tonight was NOTHING compared to the boisterous love making of the night before.

However, we were both kind of stricken with a sense that there was no love between these two creatures of the night, unless owls, unlike what we had been under the impression of before, really liked it rough.

What do you do when you are in doubt? Well, I don't know what you do, but I certainly turn to "Google" when I am in a knowledge pickle.

Unfortunately, after some extensive Googling and Wikipedia-ing, we were faced with a very harsh realization: What we mistakenly thought were owls caught in the throes of love, were actually owls in the middle of a turf war.
We were living in the South Central of the nocturnal world and my house is located right on Crenshaw.

Totally awesome.