World of Trouble

Boob-a-Palooza

2011-03-31T12:03:00.003-06:00

Sometime in January I thought to myself, Self, we need to have a party.

My birthday parties are usually of the sorority sister reunion whiskey-elimination festival variety, populated by me and a few of my hootchie friends.

This year, Self and I decided to make it meaningful. All this nonsense about boobs and breast cancer and blah de be blah blah blah gives us a swell idea: Let's hold a fundraiser for the Susan G. Komen foundation!

It started innocently enough; I formed the fundraising consultantcy business and registered with the state, forged an alliance with SGK's Passionately Pink for the Cure campaign, nationally and locally. I wrote a stunning corporate sponsorship beg letter that I'm telling you should be the motherfucking goddamn template for such things.

Then I queried a super fabulous event planning/bartending outfit that's co-owned by a local burlesque star. The name Boob-a-Palooza popped out of my head without warning and an epic party was born, twirling its tassels right out of the womb.

Soon drag performers were lured in, and roller derby girls came up with the kissing booth idea on their own. A really cool location was found and negotiations held, performers booked, and off we went.

I could regale you with the awesomeness of the night, sure, but why not just take a gander at the photographic evidence?

Feh!

2010-11-03T17:23:00.003-06:00

My reaction to the mid-term elections is bitterness and resentment. Not because the GOP swept the House or that actual Tea Partiers were elected, mind you. I am not the least bit surprised by the outcome of these elections.

Stupid, unworthy, criminal, revolting hacks enjoying success while the talented and visionary get shafted -- that's my beef. I probably had this revelation in some form as a wee Troublet but did not seethe over this putrid injustice until entering the workforce, where it plays out every day, everywhere.

As much as I hate to give her any credit (she is clearly guilty of this offense), Kathie Lee Gifford often says in her Today Show bloviations, "You know what the problem is, Hoda-Woman? In our society we reward people for their bad behavior!"

She's right. Reality TV. Celebrity/Gossip media. Politics.

On a personal level, I've been passed-over, second choice, an also-ran for several potential jobs for which I was, no kidding, a perfect fit. Each time I got the old, "We had a difficult choice -- you are amazing! -- but we've decided to go in a different direction" corker. That's fine, you can't win all the time, right? What ruffles my feathers is that I work in a field where their first choice, the one who snatched the opportunity from my grasp, is highly visible. My most recent experiences with this served to demonstrate my point: those jerks really, really suck at their job and don't deserve it.

The affrontery is unbearable sometimes. No doubt some of the election night losers are feeling my pain right now. Really? I lost out to that bumbling shitass?

Introspection is in order, of course. A small dose of poor me. But for me, lately, it's less about what's wrong with me and what's wrong with the people making these decisions.

In my field the organizations are desperate to stay relevant, so I understand their desire to bring in fresh meat. With politics, the voters are emotional and generally wrong-headed in their decision-making. This time around, and probably in 2012, the gray beards are doing their utmost to unwittingly fuck everything up.

I worry more about the youngsters: what fresh Hell is this, what kind of bumblefuck messages are we sending out?
1. If fame and fortune is your goal, consider a sex tape or sex scandal with an already famous person.
2. If you are obnoxious enough, you will get on a TV show!
3. Education is useless to you, kid. Worry about making money, as much as fast as you can. Also, the world needs fast food workers and janitors, amiright?
4. Talent is over-rated. Align yourself with the right people and ride their coattails!
5. Load yourself up with student loan debt. You'll never get a good job that you'll be laid off from within five years without a Master's degree!
6. If car sales or insurance sales is too hard for you, consider politics! All you need is "star quality" and the ability to babble nonsense with a straight face.

Yeah, I'm bitter. I know a whole lot of other people besides myself who are fed up with complete twatwaffles sailing through life, cherry picking their successes, while we toil and roil like suckers.

The Trouble with Democrats

2010-10-30T13:56:00.003-06:00

I am often accused, by my politcally conservative friends and relations, of being a Liberal; a poor, misguided young lady; a Socialist; and, well, much worse.

The thing is, the Republicans are easy targets. I have plenty of beef with Democrats, Liberterians, the Communist Party of America, and probably everyone else. The Republicans, paddling their horseshit canoe down the Desperation River are comic relief--when they aren't chipping away at civil rights and selling off our country, piece by piece, to the highest bidder.

The Democrats are scarcely better, enjoying just as much pork as the GOP while discovering creative new ways of failing themselves, their party, their supporters and the American people.

At least the Republicans are upfront about their sleaze. Democrats build on their constituents desire for compassionate government. The candidates will talk about their commitment to Education/Environment/Social Services right up until they become entrenched in the U.S. Congress, at which point they become all of what they once railed against. I'm looking at you, Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid.

The emblems of our major political parties need update: I propose the image of the GOP be changed from elephant to a Boss Tweed character and the image of the DNC be changed from donkey to that of Mr. Natural.

I believe it is impossible for a candidate with uncompromising integrity and vision to be elected to any position of authority in this country. You see it in everyday life, the buffoonish, despotic, Zig Ziglar sales managers at your office -- that's who your democratic government is representing.

Both parties share one concern: winning. That ain't leadership, friends.

I don't give a damn about an individual's religous beliefs or stance on moral issues when looking for politicians worthy of support. I am not loyal to any political party. My concern is simple: show me your experience in public office and tell me specifically what your ideas are for single-handedly improving our government. The more rhetoric you blather, the smaller you become. The more you act the sideshow blowhard, the less credible you become.

Prior to every election I read, listen and research. I care who is elected to my local school board and who remains on the State Judge's bench as much as who is running for Congress or the Presidency. Too often I am forced to vote for the lesser of two evils.

Pundits favor a scenario wherein we have a Democratic President and a Republican-controlled Congress. Sounds good on paper. Others decry the result of 30 years of Republican control, the result being our current Great Recession. I agree with that assessment but can't imagine 30 years of Democrat control being much of an improvement. Democrats are just as likely to kowtow to the plutocracy as Republicans are to anyone who flashes a wad of cash their way.

I challenge you find an experienced politician in America with clean hands and a clear head. I admire President Obama more than I did President Bush because Obama has Congressional experience AND came out of the Chicago cesspool remarkably unscathed. Obama sought expert counsel (from the likes of Warren Buffet, for example) and mostly chose excellent advisors (with the notable exception of Rahm Emanuel). Obama seeks to emulate Lincoln. I'm under no illusion that Obama has clean hands -- that's impossible. But he does seem to have a clear head and I suspect most of the people whispering in his ear have more integrity than, say, Karl Rove or Dick Cheney.

Of course I may be wrong about that. However, McCain/Palin was undoubtedly the greater evil and I absolutely believe the country is better off with Obama/Biden.

The Trouble with Democrats is that they fail. But if the choice is between progressing but just missing the mark or going pellmell backwards (as Conservative Fundamentalists wish), I'll vote Democrat every time.

We need taxes and we need to spend those taxes on various government programs. We need to protect the Environment. We need to preserve our Civil Rights and expand them to include other disenfranchised Americans as our country grows and changes. We must invest in Education and help our sick, our elderly and our poor people to live decently. We owe it to our people who work so damn hard every day to empower that middle class, rather than taking their jobs, their house, their savings and retirement accounts and endangering the safety of their communities.

"Smaller government" "No Taxes"...these are nonsensical slogans. We need our government to do its job, plain and simple. We need more nerdy intellectuals and history buffs in public office, fewer demented showboaters. Look carefully at the people running for office in your neck of the woods. If your gut tells you they'll say anything to get elected and actually stand for nothing other than winning, you are right on the money, honey.

Democrats fail, that's their problem. They are too quick to compromise, selling out their base and ensnarling their party with infighting. Republicans fail, too, and usually more spectacularly, but are adept at projection and reassigning blame. Smoke and mirrors, P.T. Barnum style.

Democrats are weak, they fail constantly and they compromise themselves all the way over to the Right. But the Republicans are so ridiculous, so extreme, such hucksters, I (and a whole lot of the other American voters) have no choice but to choose the Dems' lesser evil.

Hey, GOP, get better candidates and we'll talk.

Tea Party

2010-09-14T22:18:00.003-06:00

It pains me to see this foolishness gaining ground with Americans. No one I know will admit to being a member, but I want to just put this information out there for anyone interested in history, facts, and freedom.

"Take Back America!"

From whom and to what? As I understand it, the Tea Party would like to jump in their Hot Tub Time Machine. Good old Reaganomics suits them just fine and they don't take kindly to all this socialist progress and godless science telling them their beliefs are not historical facts.

"In God We Trust"

America is not a Christian nation, and that really boils their bunnies. Our Founding Fathers wanted it to be though, right? Actually, the first settlers were fleeing religious persecution and looking for a better life in a new country. Dirty illegal immigrants! The Revolutionary War started because Britain's rule was oppressive and exploitative. The Continental Congress was unanimous in their opposition to a state religion and made that clear in the Constitution.

How much do the evangelical christians of today compare to the righteous Quakers and Lutherans they revere? Well, most early American christians were modest and shunned capitalist ideas as un-Christian.

Speaking of Christ, I take it he was a real radical in his day. Fighting the corruption of the Sanhedrin, preaching equality and freedom for all, going ballistic on the moneychangers...That pinko commie socialist!

All the other Protestant sects must be terribly embarassed to have these fools doing things in their name.

Tea bags are also upset with their own party for not being "conservative" enough. That, my friends, is plain dumb. What they call conservative is a repellent melange of racism, classicm, theocracy, xenophobia and extreme capitalism.

Why, it's sort of like King George railing against the Colonists. Is that where they want to go with this? Their rhetoric is grade school stuff, completely nonsensical and reactionary. The problem is that their "base" is blue collars and white hairs who are mad as hell and not really sure who to blame. If you say that Muslim black guy who is turning our great nation into a socialist, islamic hellfire wants to tax us to kingdom come and also take away our guns, well, boy howdy, Mr. Beck, we are fighting mad about that, sir!

Herewith, a list of Tea Party Wants:
- Our government will consist of white conservative Christians only
- Select committees will do all of the electing, thank you
- The Bill of Rights will be erased
- Supreme Court is for conservative, gun-toting Christians only
- Education for white conservative Christian future leaders only
- No immigration by anyone, ever
- No health care for anyone but us conservative Christians
- Wealth is only for us conservative Christians
- Kiss those Civil and Women's Rights goodbye
- Deregulation for all business
- Elimination of all environmental laws and regulations

So, if you fancy a return to Medieval times -- and I'm not talking about the theme restaurant here -- by all means, support your local Tea Party wingnut. Nice work, Alaska and Delaware Republicans!

Oh, and that whole "Party of Lincoln" thing? You are so far from Lincoln that you are Whigs and American (Know-Nothings). In other words, the opposite of Lincoln. The pro-slavery, anti-Democracy folks.

It is all puppet theatre for the billionaire corporate executives behind the Tea Party who just want to consolidate all the money and power and give fuck-all about the other 99% of Americans. It is as simple as that. Other billionaire corporate executives are behind the Democrats and establishment Republicans.

While separation of church and state is important, I think it's high time for a big separation of commerce and state. Get big business out of the government, especially foreign big business! Did you know that China owns us?

What we need in this country are people with vision and courage, leaders who earn that title through their inspiring ideas and good deeds. Radicals, like Jesus of Nazareth, or Abraham Lincoln.

We need to take back this country, alright. Take it back from Big Pharm, Wall Street, Banks, Big Oil, etc., etc. Business has no business in politics. We need MORE regulation and enforcement. Finance Reform. Campaign Finance Reform. Transparency. a Ban on Lobbyists.

We need a democratically-elected, representative government. Like the one the Founding Fathers hoped for.

Prodigal Blogger Returns

2010-09-14T22:03:00.003-06:00

Landsakes, it's been a long time!

So much has happened since the last time I posted to this blog, I think I'd better keep it haiku short:

1. My darling baby was born July 28, 2009. She is the end-all, be-all.

2. My psychiatrist and therapist together decided that I was misdiagnosed with Bipolar Disorder in 2004. They were very apologetic.

3. Like a whole lot of other media types, I was laid off from my job and have not found a suitable replacement. This sucks donkey balls, but I manage to keep busy with housekeeping and child rearing and fomenting political unrest on Facebook.

4. People I like and respect (who do not know one another) have all pressed me to write a book about my tragically hilarious life. I'm threatening to do just that.

5. Superfly and I recently celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary. We are good.

6. I've missed blogging and no longer have any reason not to do it. Hope someone out there is marginally interested to hear this!

What's Bugging You Today, Trouble?

2009-02-06T13:41:00.004-07:00

Are you a sports fan? Do you ever go to live sporting events, or watch the game with friends at a sportsbar?

When you are in a crowded, boisterous arena or crowded, boisterous sportsbar, do you get upset when people yell, cheer or celebrate with a round of shots?

Some Long Island chicks got bounced from MSG during a Knicks game for being loud and obnoxious. The men who complained about them to security were also rewarded with a beer spilled over their heads. Then the dim-wit twats posted an OMG! and expletive-heavy blog on their experience. So what? Well, that was my first response, too.

However, it's "news" on sports blogs and (predicatably)receiving disgusting comments, focused on the women being "stupid" "ugly", etc. and inferring overall that women aren't allowed to be idiot sports fans.

Have I ever been an obnoxious, drunken fan? Of course, who hasn't--at one time in their life or just last week? Anyone going to Madison Square Garden when the Knicks are playing the Lakers (and getting massacred by same)can't reasonably expect a quiet evening of basketball watching and golf claps. Anyone who goes to a football stadium and gets annoyed by the face-painted fools should really consider either a skybox or watching from home. Those jackasses have an equal right to enjoy the game as you do, wimpy.

Not that I defend these girls, they are really stupid. But the sexism is even stupider. Change it to three bigmouth Guidos from Staten Island and it ain't worth a mention anywhere.

Unless the blowhard in question is directly addressing you, STFU. If you do take it upon yourself to try to teach them your version of stadium manners in the middle of a playoff game, you deserve a beer over your head. Mind your own damn business!

Save your shushing for the symphony, morons. Even if you could pass some prissy laws of conduct and get yourself a Pussy Section at a sports venue that is quiet and respectful of your personal space and allows you to enjoy the game at a level of excitement that suits your Easy-Listening style, I will personally find you and pour a beer over your head.

So there.

Hilarious, Smelly Exercise

2009-02-05T13:02:00.003-07:00

When I bought the Prenatal Yoga DVD at Target I had high hopes of getting limber and strong during my pregnancy and maybe getting a jump on losing the weight after hatching my egg in August. Sure, I could take classes with other preggy women. My excuses for not doing so include the expense involved and my propensity for being overly competitive and sometimes hostile in group exercise classes. A $17 disc I can follow at home seemed an ideal solution. Besides, it starred Shiva Rea, who I think is the wife of sexy yoga guy Rodney Yee.

She's tall, thin, blonde and incredibly fit. Shiva also has a soothing, ethereal voice and a demeanor so peaceful and reassuring that it becomes impossible to resent her in any way. I will probably find a way.

I no longer have a yoga mat, the expensive one was pooped on by a dog that wasn't supposed to even be in my house, much less pooping on my yoga mat. The other was put to use during a snow storm by my darling husband, who found it a perfect thing to put under the tires for added traction. Ahem.

Neither do I have a yoga brick, a yoga strap or a yoga blanket. Instead I rely on my decent balance and flexibility, left over from a lifetime of dance and Pilates and Yoga and friggin' Jazzercise. I was overweight before I got pregnant, but I am still pretty bendy.

A few things I failed to consider. During your pregnancy you will certainly notice that your sense of smell is intensified, to the point you can smell donuts from a mile away. Or, every smelly thing embedded in your carpet when you are in Downward Dog and, especially, Child's pose. Every morsel of popcorn dropped on the floor and missed by the vacuum in the last three months shifted the focus of my vinyasa breathing and nearly made me hurl.

About the balance and grace of which I boast? The funny thing about being in the Second Trimester of pregnancy is your burgeoning bump, which on me sits directly in front of my hips and solidly smooshes my internal organs. Lean the wrong way in any direction and the bump slides, crushing my liver, kidney, stomach or bladder's will to live. Also, smooth and even breathing--a hallmark of yoga practice--is more like gulping, heaving, sighing and panting.

Here's a picture: Me in my living room, attempting a Table position. Besides the terrible noises issuing from my nose and mouth, the cat trying to capture the cute ribbon tie on my yoga pants, and my beet-red face; I am wobbling on the smelly carpet on all fours, one shaky arm pointed forward and the opposite side leg held up in back. The cat is under my belly, swatting at my pants. My belly and supersized boobs are trying to make a break for the floor, I am sweating too much and the phone is ringing.

Shiva Rea is reminding me to "focus on the now...be in the present" and I'm finding reason to hate her. The cat stabs one perfectly formed fish hook of a claw in my fleshy, exposed belly and, after I peeled myself off the ceiling, I stand up without inhaling first and hurl the remote control at the TV.

Shiva Rea reminds me that the growing life inside me appreciates my attention to my body's needs for stretching and strength. I'm so glad.

No doubt the growing life inside me also appreciates the Crunch Berries I had for breakfast and my bizarre craving for Coca-Cola.

It's all good, right? I'm taking care of myself, eating (mostly) right (see aforementioned Crunch Berries and Coca Cola) and getting sunshine, lots of water and gentle exercise.

Perhaps I'll give Shiva Rea another chance. I doubt the second try could be worse.

Why is Elizabeth Hasselbeck?

2009-02-03T10:55:00.002-07:00

Yesterday on the TV show "The View", which I rarely watch and only was tuned into because I neglected to turn the channel from the night before and was otherwise occupied with laundry, I listened to the rantings of the yentas approvingly. Their outrage on this day was focused,appropriately enough,on Rush Limbaugh and comments the porcine radio host made about President Obama.

Then a little blonde harpie chirped in with the most nonsensical support for Limbaugh I've ever heard. I stopped folding underwear and took a closer look. This woman's sentences got shriller by the word, I noticed, and her empty little head looked close to imploding when her co-hosts interrupted. She looked for all the world like a spitting mad, spoiled two-year old child who isn't getting her way.

Barbara Walters is a distinguished and respected journalist. Whoppi Goldberg is a famous comedienne and actress. Joy Behar is an author and comedian. Sherri Shepard is an actress and comedian. Elizabeth Hasselbeck was an amateur contestant on a reality TV show? She's married to a professional football player? Why is she on this show?

I'll tell you why. Like her hero, Sarah Palin, Elizabeth Hasselbeck represents everything wrong in America that we are trying to change. Both women are reasonably attractive, proudly anti-intellectual, narcissistic fools who hide their lack of education, talent, relevant professional experience, and goodwill behind the labels "Christianity", "Real America", and "Values". In trying to emulate the men they admire, such as Limbaugh or any GOP bullshitter, by spouting racist, ignorant nonsense for attention and money, Hasselbeck and Palin got their wish.

They are frauds. Let us continue to expose, shame and remove all frauds from positions of authority and power. Electing Obama was an excellent start. No more Bush Administration fraud to destroy our country from within. Exposing and prosecuting Rod Blagodovich was a smart move for the State of Illinois and shaming the Wall Street criminals is better late than never, I suppose. California, you have a long way to go: Proposition 8 is shameful and fraudulent leglislation.

Values are indeed due for a comeback. Values such as humility and charity, specificially. Enough with providing fame and fortune to irresponsible and attention-seeking frauds: no more reality TV shows that promote reprehensible human beings, whether "surviving" for millions or strutting sluts or ludicrous "dating" shows. By all means keep showing real-life, healthy families and talent shows and documentaries of real places and real people who succeed in life by their hard work, talent, and intelligence.

Faith is important, but it's more important to us as Americans that one faith does not claim itself the "only, true, right" faith. Not everyone in America--or indeed, the World--who worships and lives their life according to God's will is Christian and it would be wise for Christians to recognize and remember this. Our Constitution clearly provides us the freedom to practice our religion as individuals and assures any one religion from becoming mandate.

Keep your religious beliefs to yourself. Never proselytize. Do not demand any state or federal entity acquiesce to your religious practices. Enjoy your faith in the privacy of your home and within the religious community to which you belong.

Fraud abounds. Stop allowing and encouraging it, please.

Eight is Enough!

2009-02-02T14:31:00.002-07:00

So, this 33-year old "perpetual student" and former fertility clinic worker, a single mom of six living with her overburdened parents in Southern California, had eight frozen embryos implanted into her infertile womb. All those babies were born relatively healthy, although premature and likely to have liftime health issues.

Quite the quandry and the firestorm set off by this story is shocking in its ferocity.

Questions:

*Which mental illness(es) is this woman clearly suffering from?
*Is she being paid as a breed cow and if so, by whom and why?
*Has she done this in a calculated bid to become a reality TV star and celebrity?
*What moral/ethical issues were trampled to pulp in the process of bringing these children into the world?
*If we say reproductive choice should be legal and sacred, how does this woman's decisions become open to public moralizing and judgment?
*How much of blame and responsibility rests with the medical professionals who agreed to the procedure and treated her for infertility when she already had six children (including one special-needs child) under eight-years old at home?
*Is it time for the U.S. to adopt and legalize fetal implantation limits?
*How much government intervention in human reproduction is right and fair?

Well, Hello!

2009-02-02T14:08:00.004-07:00

My, my, it's been awhile, hasn't it? My decision to privatize this blog was mostly due to really ignorant emails I received from people clearly not fans of my blatherings. That and the potential for anyone, anywhere to access this blog (and therefore delve into the innerworkings of my mind and other personal details)and link to it and mock me and so on. It is supremely annoying.

Hopefully those nutters have moved on to shinier objects and will leave us, you and me, alone.

So, I'm back, hey!

What's new:

Month four of my fifth pregnancy, the first since I started treatment for bipolar disorder. I'm completely off my psych meds (which is AWESOME) and under the care of my psychiatrist, my OB/GYN, and my internist who all have their eyes peeled for problems. Problems? What problems? The pregnancy is going very well and I feel incredible now that I'm not constantly dealing with Lithium side effects. As tempting as it is to think I can continue this free ride, I know it is neither healthy nor realistic.

Especially since I'm having insomnia. Insomnia is bad for anybody when it lasts more than a few days but for bipolar people it is exceptionally likely to trigger either depression or hypomania (mania without psychosis). It's been three weeks now of 3-4 hours of sleep per night (I find napping impossible) and I'm worried. OB/GYN says insomnia is typical at this stage of pregnancy but PsyDoc is concerned and is ready to call in a prescription at a moment's notice.

I am lucky to have family, friends and doctors who are supportive and caring. Too many bipolars have to deal with ignorance and hostility in addition to their already-heavy load of suffering. The few times I've encountered that bullshit I've put a quick end to that relationship--including dumping my family doc of 15 years because she kept insisting my physical problems (hives, back pain, IBS) were obviously (magically) creations of my psychological disorder and I should stop wasting her time:

Saw an endocrinologist for the chronic hives problem. He diagnosed Hashimoto's Thyroiditis and prescribed a higher dose of my thyroid meds and Sudafed as needed. Problem solved!

Saw a chiropractor for my ongoing back pain problems, for which I'd already been unsuccessfully treated with physical therapy and pain drugs, and in one adjustment straightened out my twisted pelvis. Problem Solved!

Saw several gastroenterologists for the IBS issues and had a colonoscopy. Clear, clean, healthy. Went off Lithium and IBS issues were instantly gone. Problem Solved!

...yes, I clearly made up those symptoms to irritate you, Dr. Assclown. Oh, and thanks SO much for pulling the nurse aside when I was in the hospital recently for a a medical emergency and telling her I was a "psych" patient. The nurse was incredulous and told me right away what you said, stupid.

Have I made my point clear? Yes, I think so. No one should ever put up with bad treatment from medical professionals. Not "psych" patients, not anyone.

And anyway, I'm happy you're reading and hoping those other jerks aren't.

Interesting Times

2008-10-12T12:26:00.003-06:00

Superfly hubby and I were supposed to spend the entire month of October traveling. Two exciting Las Vegas auto shows and a much-anticipated-yet-delayed Hawaiian honeymoon.

Instead, we are at home, going all frugal on yo ass. Trips canceled (saving about $4k) and Operation Financial Recovery in full effect.

Coupon clipping, walking everywhere, cleaning the house instead of watching TV or fooling around on the computer. Spending time at the library and more hours reading the books we check out.

Instead of going out to eat because we are friggin' lazy we're planning menus for the week and learning to cook new things. Supey is aces at homemade pizza!

We're actually utilizing our free, state-of-the-art gym here at our apartment complex and he lost 5 lbs. or so, within days. Amazing. I hate him.

But really, it is amazing. Shuffling off complacency produces a wildly exciting feeling of freedom and power and instead of being depressed, resentful, angry, whatever, over the state of things, we put our resourcefulness to work and we're both feeling pretty positive about our ability to weather the coming financial doom.

Things that Help:

1. We do not have any savings, investments, or 401(k).

Sadly, these are the hardest-hit accounts, with no relief in sight. Where do you think Wall St. will bail water from?

2. I have a guaranteed income every month from SSDI that — so long as McCain and Himmler are not elected — is as secure as it can get. I also receive health insurance and free prescriptions.

3. Lived most of my life in poverty; I know from frugal.

How to produce a dinner for five from nothing is my specialty.

4. We have little debt.

Debt does nothing good. Live within your means, people. Lose the credit cards and go with one debit card per household. Convert that mortgage or sell the damn thing. Downsizing is all the rage!

How are YOU coping with the Great Depression, Part Deux?

A Curious Circle

2008-09-15T16:40:00.003-06:00

In November of 1999 I had three things on my mind: my pregnancy, the national election, and the Millennium Bug. My baby, you see, was due in early January of 2000 and everyone around me was all hopped-up about doom. Doom if George W. Bush won the Presidency and worse doom when the world's computers fragged-out on December 31 at midnight.

I watched in horror as the national election became a joke, the GOP stealing, lying and cheating in broad daylight. The disgust I felt in the ensuing weeks as canards about hanging chads and the electoral college were palmed off as "facts" and this yutz, this last-choice of the already-repellent Bush family became our cheerfully retarded President and made the U.S. the laughingstock of the Universe.

Nothing happened on January 1, 2000, other than a sale on free-standing generators. My son was born on 1/17/00 and received fun gifts for being a Millennium Baby.

Eight years later, the retard is finally on his way out. But here we are again with the doom. The GOP propped up another set of cheerful retards for ignorant people to get behind. Palin's chortling about "Hockey Mom!" is as terrifying as can be, given her history of being actively evil in public office. But some women, wanting a woman in the White House (no matter how evil) at all costs, or simply identifying with Palin on superficial (not to mention manufactured) qualities, are crying "sexism" when anyone (rightfully) criticizes Palin's lack of experience, insight, or political know-how. You can almost see Cheney's hand coming out of the back of Palin's conservative blouse.

McCain himself is not a bad choice for President. But McCain is not totally on board with the GOP fiends, and Palin will be on board for anything her overlords say. So let's pretend they are elected. McCain karks it soon enough, making this lipsticked pig our President. New Supreme Court justices are appointed. Goodbye Roe v. Wade, hello prayer in school and creationism taught alongside evolution. Hello offshore and national park drilling, goodbye pristine environment and endangered species! I could go on about what a terrible vote that would be, but let's move on.

I hope to be pregnant by November, which will mean another long and dyspeptic Tuesday night. Not as frightened about the world this child will be born into as I was eight years ago, though. I guess we can thank the GOP for numbing us to the unimaginable. "Really, a war in Afghanistan and Iraq for oil? That never ends?"

As for the other doom thing: Wall St. crashing, banks folding, people homeless and jobless, dogs and cats living together, etc.

We cashed out our 401(k)s long ago and have no other investments and no debt or credit whatsoever. I receive Disability from Social Security and Superfly hubby does his own thing for himself. If SSDI ran out and jobs dried up, we have the skills to get food and shelter and will manage just fine. For us, it is justice served to see, for example, the Walton family (of Wal-Mart evil) crying about their billions and re-stocking their doomsday shelter.

I have always hated the rich and powerful, it's part of my anarchist/Communist DNA. Even if I became wealthy beyond my wildest dreams (and that isn't something I dream about) I would hate other rich people and plot against them.

In November of 2008 I will have three things on my mind: my pregnancy, the national election, and the 2nd Great Depression.

I look forward to the ignorant drive-by comments this post may get, from bloated Republican men who clearly learned nothing in the last eight years of GOP criminal acts, and also think their opinion means more than nothing to me.

A Baby Story

2008-09-11T16:34:00.003-06:00

Superfly hubby and I are about to embark on an experience unlike anything either of us have lived.

Well, I've been pregnant before but never while on (much needed) medication.

So, with the help of my psychiatrist (Dr. G), my OB/GYN (Dr. R.), and a dizzying array of blood tests and doctor appointments, we are going to try to have a baby.

Surely there are moms out there who have it tougher, say, moms with cancer or moms with physical impairments. I will do whatever my doctors tell me, try not to vex my sweet husband, and leave it up to Mother Nature whether or not I get to have a fifth beautiful, healthy child.

People I actually care about voice their concern for my age and mental health, or wondering why I would want to bring yet another Trouble baby into the world. Because I do care about these people, I don't tell them to go fuck themselves.

The Stakes: I must be off Lithium for the first trimester, no exceptions. I am 40 years old and in good physical condition. No one knows what to expect when I'm expecting, as an unmedicated Bipolar person (for a few months, anyway). Risks aplenty, for everyone involved.

The Yield: A beautiful, healthy child. A chronicle of a pregnancy many people around us think is unwise and dangerous for me, that I hope will be helpful to other bipolar moms.

Not a Baby Story you'll see on TLC, for sure!

Election 2008

2008-09-05T15:19:00.002-06:00

Let me reveal to you the truth, without the distractions of blaming media bias, rooting out scandal and spreading lies, or grandstanding rhetoric. Governor Palin is a pretty pony, a media lightning rod, a big "fuck you" to feminists and Hillary Clinton fans, and a humongous phony. McCain's relevancy and power to motivate and/or lead has long past. Obama and Biden are an odd couple, but hardly puppets of a greater evil.

The actual choice for voters in this pivotal election, is simple:

Four more years of the Dick Cheney Show or positive change in government, economy, environment, education, and foreign policy.

Want more war, a worse economy, devastation of our natural parks for the gain of a handful of American oil & gas billionaires? By all means, feel confident in your vote for Dick Cheney.

But just so you know, no one has forgotten or forgiven you for voting Bush into office in the first place. How about you do the right thing this time, hm?

Blog Reader Appreciation Day

2008-08-26T10:30:00.002-06:00

Hi! How have you been?

You may have noticed — and a hearty thanks to those who wrote to inquire about it — that this blog was blocked for some time. The decision was based on several emails I received, ignorant and unbelievably cruel screeds.

My feelings were not hurt by those emails because people whom I don't know and don't care about cannot hurt my feelings. They did succeed in shocking me, enough to decide that such people had no right to read my personal blog. So, if their object was to silence me, they won.

But it was a temporary and Pyrrhic victory, you slimy miscreants. I'm back, I'm happy and I'm ready to overshare again.

You there, reading this and wondering what the Hell I'm on about, I *heart* you! Thank you for reading this goofy, often hostile blog and occasionally weighing in with your comments. Thank you for asking whither World of Trouble?

WoT is back and fired up about the DNC. Stay tuned!

Being Bipolar

2008-07-19T20:06:00.002-06:00

I was diagnosed a long time ago, back in the early '90s. My boyfriend at the time and I were in for couple's counseling and (probably because raving bonkers) the psychologist asked to see me alone. Now, when we are in our '20s, I believe we are least receptive to criticism of any kind, even imagined. So I did nothing.

Having children made it more important to get help. The post-partum period is very dangerous for women with mental illness; it tends to exponentially exacerbate depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and personality disorders. I had three children in five years and suffered each time, silently. Pride and embarrassment at work there.

After my divorce I began rapid-cycling: moving from mania to depression in a short time, sometimes within the same day. When depressed I stayed in bed and prayed for death. When manic I destroyed relationships, lost jobs, and squandered money. Still I resisted treatment.

It wasn't until I entered into an abusive relationship that things changed. I knew what he was doing was wrong, but was in too much a fog to resist. He broke through the restraining order, picked my comatose body out of my bed and took me back to his house, where I was a prisoner for several months. It was during this time that he dragged me to the County Clerk's office and we got married, although I don't remember it. When I started violently hallucinating he had no choice but to take me to the hospital. I quickly responded to Lithium treatment and on release got an Annulment and got the fuck out of Dodge.

That there are easier routes to treatment in this world does not escape me, believe.

Back at home in PA, I continued to adjust to Lithium (WEIGHT GAIN! BRAIN GONE NUMB!)and went to therapy, yoga, and all the other things recommended to me. I filed for and received Disability status based on my mental illness.

I don't feel disabled, truly. But I recognize how the disorder manifests in my brain, what it means for me to be bipolar.

Hostility is my main challenge. I'm prone to conspiracy thinking and obsession. Lots of obsessive-compulsive behavior and oppositional attitudes. Lithium has done wonders in providing balance in my mind in all these areas. I am profoundly grateful.

So what does that have to do with being able to work? Why should I get Disability?

I've been fired from almost all of the dozens of jobs I've held. Usually I would fixate on someone, become hostile and obsessed with them. Or would calmly tell the boss exactly what was wrong with them and what they were trying to do. Also, I showed up generally when I felt like it and picked fights on a regular basis.

The truth is, you can only get away with these behaviors if you are the boss.

So I work on a freelance basis, from home, where I am the boss.

Still taking Lithium and the much-ballyhooed side effects are no longer an issue for me. I go to therapy and my psychiatrist tells me things like I am one of the lucky few who respond beautifully to Lithium, or that I am one of the highest-functioning Bipolar I patients he's seen. Which I will go ahead and take as compliments.

I don't wear a "Hi! I'm Bipolar!" sticker, or propose that my life is typical of Bipolar people. Everyone is affected individually, it seems. I do what's right for me and I do most of the things my doctors tell me to do.

I hate taking pills: two in the morning and one at night. But I never want to go back to that person cowering in a mental hospital bed. I exercise and eat well. My mind is clearer now than I ever remember, and my relationships are repaired and credit rating restored. My personality makes this possible; I know plenty of Bipolar people who struggle every single day because of theirs.

There are no defining traits of Bipolar Disorder. There is a diagnostic tool which parses behavior and past issues common to Bipolar sufferers, but it is no means an end-all, be-all for rooting us out of a crowd. It is not a personality disorder, as some believe. The area of the brain affected is the same as MS, almost more of a neurological disorder than a mental one — but the "symptoms", if you will, are all about bad judgments and decision-making problems.

I don't feel any shame about being Bipolar, I didn't choose it and I'm doing my best to live with it. There are so many writers, bloggers and activists out there fighting stigma and pushing for better treatments for the mentally ill, I don't feel qualified to throw my hat into their ring.

I'm Trouble, and the reason I got that nickname is probably because I'm Bipolar.

Hate List

2008-07-19T19:07:00.002-06:00

Well, hate is a strong word. How about: I am displeased with the following list of people's very existence. Better? Of course my indefensible reasons accompany.

Geo. W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Bill O'Reilly for obvious reasons. This gruesome threesome, working within the Republican/Conservative Xtian/Fox News axis of evil, are responsible for the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq; 9/11; Oil & Gas shakedown; banking and mortgage crises and the fatal deterioration of news reporting and journalism in general. I don't care how "fatigued" you feel about Bush bad news. Time for a reality check, people who still admire el lame duck and his evil cronies — YOU, personally, were hoodwinked, fooled, and turned upside to discharge the change in your pocket.

Fameballs. Or, that's what Gawker calls them, anyway. They are people who want to be famous, without regard to any contribution they provide in exchange. As a society we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for rewarding these useless, needy narcissists with their drug. We are enablers of the worst sort. Not listing names, I don't want to add to the problem. Suffice to say that if someone lacks demonstrable talent, i.e. musicality, dazzling artistry, or important wordsmithing, they do not warrant incessant media coverage and photo ops. Being someone famous' child almost always means you are a useless, spoiled brat. Sleeping with someone famous is a terrible way to get attention, stupid. Especially if you are a prostitute. Appearing in a bit part in a B movie, or a starring role in a pornography video (amateur or professional) does not mean you should be photographed endlessly, wearing a dizzying array of unsuitable and revolting outfits (all the better to 'build your brand', eh?) to earn internet mockery (=internet fame) and higher search engine rankings.

It's all despicable and I can't hardly wait for the backlash. Me and my black Sharpie do a lot of creative photo editing in the magazines I read. Mature, I know. Duh! One of these fameballs is so noxious, I can't resist a focused and meaningful curse: Die, Julia A. Baugher. Die shamefully. If you aren't ready to die then at least marry some millionaire and move to Connecticut, never to be heard from again.

Poverty. Mine and others. Which means that I despise rich people twice as much. I hate seeing families consider ditching their upside down mortgages, and Foreclosure signs dotting my neighborhood. I hate that no one so far is stepping forward to help the poor. Economic Recovery checks my ass. The Feds are in a hurry to help millionaires and billionaires in finance and banking hang on and the President wants to help out domestic O&G with offshore and national park drilling — a windfall for those millionaires, but no help whatsoever to the people forced to choose between gas and food. Apparently, nothing was learned from the first Depression.

That's all the vitriol I've got for today. Feel free to join in!

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

2008-07-14T17:27:00.003-06:00

Our President, audacious criminal savant that he is, is on TV talking about how offshore oil drilling will put food on poor people's tables and allow kids to go to school. It's also, he claims, a matter of national security.

Is that a fact?

Seems to me (and to plenty of people who know more about it)offshore drilling — and the bill's unmentioned additional opening of Alaskan wilderness, national and state parks for drilling — is a last-ditch effort to assure O&G speculators and profiteers future domestic earnings.

As BBC put it: "Even if offshore drilling begins tomorrow it will show whatever limited benefits to the average American in several generations. A matter of Too Little, Too Late."

Please take a moment to check in with your local Congressman and see how he/she intends to vote on the subject.

Dear Recruiters

2008-07-11T20:50:00.002-06:00

Listen, I appreciate that you contact me with "exciting job opportunities" that I am "perfect for". I've worked as a recruiter and I know how things work, believe me.

But from now on, do not contact me with your bullshit. I know I am experienced and talented in my career field. My resume does indeed kick ass. My interviews are spectacular and my references glow.

I also know a fishing expedition when I smell one and I am truly sick of them. Don't lie to me! Go ahead, tell me they've already decided to hire so-and-so's friend from college, but have to go through the motions of fair hiring.

This is the third time in one month that a recruiter called, begging. The third time I spoke with various poobahs, who oohed and aahed at my experience and skills and laughed at my jokes. This is the third time I got a "we just loved you but have decided to go with another candidate" email. Another, "It's not you, it's us."

Yeah, oh Hell Yes I'm bitter. But it truly is their loss and I will just move on.

From now on, however, all recruiters will be treated with the same urgency and respect garnered by bill collectors and telemarketers.

That's your fair warning.

Hopped up on Goofballs

2008-07-08T07:30:00.007-06:00

Goofball #1: The Endless Dental Problems. Another filling yesterday, and the dentist joked that I was running out of teeth to drill and fill.

I've always had bad teeth: first dental surgery at age 10 when skin from the roof of my mouth was grafted onto my quickly receding gum line. Metal fillings, composite fillings, braces for two years, impacted wisdom teeth removed. All before I was 21. At this point, I am seriously thinking dentures, or wooden teeth a la George Washington.

Plus side: I have amazing dental insurance. No, really: 100% coverage in most cases.

Goofball #2: The Stressful Summer. Superfly fiance and I are both looking for work, we have the troublets all summer and we are trying to plan a Labor Day weekend wedding. Other issues continually crop up to annoy and/or cause panic.

Plus side: We are having a lot of fun with the kids, spending plenty of QT together and our families are selflessly helpful and kind.

Goofball #3: Politics. As a registered Independent, my voting choices this year are pretty darn challenging. Neither Presidential candidate has shown so far to be adept at foreign policy or national economics and the local politicos are a sorry lot.

Are we not weary of political rhetoric and corruption? Haven't we been beaten down and trampled by real estate and energy speculation and racketeering? We are bankrupt, barely hanging on to jobs and homes. We are sick of war and cynical of warmongering. It's during times like these that anarchy and revolution fester in the minds of a population.

Which of the candidates, the mild-mannered Senator with liberal views and his race working for and against him, or the loose cannon Senator who was a veteran and POW, a moderate in a sea of arch-conservatives, who nevertheless is an alienating crazy person in public appearances, can lead us through disaster and doom back to prosperity and balance?

Plus side: No Bush family members or outright cronies are running for major office this year. Go get 'em, Bugliosi!

The best remedy for goofballs is resting with your feet up on your porch and enjoying the beautiful sunsets while sipping an ice-cold beverage. Repeat as needed.

A Word or Two on Gas Prices

2008-06-22T02:16:00.003-06:00

That a torch-wielding mob of angry Americans are not currently marching on the Bush and Cheney families and their ilk leaves me confused.

Surely everyone knows by now that gas prices in America are inflated at the will of the oil brokers? That those same oil prices are artificially inflated right now, when our economy is already shattered, in order to secure the maximum amount of profits to those oil brokers before a probably-unfriendly administration takes office and the gig is up.

Who do you suppose benefits most from offshore drilling?

If you want to understand something, look to the people profiting by it.

The Bush family will hide in plain sight and deny. Cheney's reign of terror is soon over and he can safely retire to Dubai in wealth. The hundreds of other oil brokers, profiteers and pirates are redoubling their efforts to continue bilking you.

Efforts by some to promote offshore, Alaskan and natural parkland drilling have nothing to do with reducing our dependence on foreign oil. Our homeland sheiks just want their piece of the pie. You can bet your ass they won't be selling it back to us any cheaper than OPEC.

Do I have any suggestions for improving the situation? Sure, I do. Don't buy a new car, ever. Buy a used car with awesome gas mileage, find a local whiz-bang mechanic who can put in an electric or fuel-cell engine kit (not as hard to find as people would have you think) and modify your car however you want to suit your driving needs. They have a spray for "new car smell", you know.

Fuck the Toyota Prius — it is a piece of crap. Maybe Prius 2020, but this generation is really a huge waste of money. Flex-fuel is a step in the right direction but still massively oil-dependent. Electric technology is fantastic, but buying an actual electric car is damn political. Fuel-cell is the future here now — if you like in Brasil or Japan. Actually, fuel-cell buses and commercial vehicles are already puttering around certain parts of America, you just don't hear about that in-between luxury car ads and Toby Keith's "Anything But Pick-Up Trucks is Un-American" commercials.

Meanwhile, here you are: suffering. Filling up the tank often means taking money from somewhere else. But, hey, whiny baby, those vacation homes in Dubai don't come for free. Tell you what: from now on, research the background of your elected officials: if it stinks of oil, run them out of town on a rail.

The Bush Administration, Part Deux, will go down in history as one of the most criminal. Calls for impeachment came about 7 years too late. Whomever is elected in November has an unspeakable mess to clean.

Your To-Do List:

Consider selling your current gas-guzzler, or putting it in storage as a collector car. If you absolutely need a car, buy something with high gas mileage that is Used.
Carpool. For reals this time. Don't believe car commercials.

Use alternative transportation if you can. Bikes, mopeds, public transportation and feets will get you around, get you in shape and save you BIG money. Plus, let's face it, taking the bus will give you something to talk about at Happy Hour. You meet interesting people in the world, once you stop driving your car 1/2 mile to the grocery store.

Consider making your world smaller, i.e. moving closer to work, schools, shopping, etc.

Beware of oil people, they are deeply evil pickpockets. Don't elect oil people to public office if you value your money and natural parks.

Yo Mama So Fat.. (from bangitout.com)

2008-06-12T16:52:00.003-06:00

* she fell in love — and broke it
* she has to put on her belt with a boomerang
* I have to take a train, a plane, and 2 buses to get on her good side
* a picture of her fell off the wall
* her tailor takes her measurements in light years
* her picture takes two frames
* her favorite blouse is a tent
* her driver's license says "Picture continued on other side."
* when she goes to a restaurant, she even orders the "Thank You, Come Again."
* even her shadow has stretch marks
* when she gets on the scale it says "To be continued."
* her blood type is rocky-road
* her blood type is Ragu
* one day when she got in a fight and the person fighting her got lost in her
* she could sell shade
* she DJs for the ice cream truck
* she eats cereal out of a satellite dish
* she has to keep pesos in one pocket and yen in the other
* she has to iron her pants on the driveway
* after she got off the carousel, the horse limped for a week
* when she ran away they had to use all four sides of the milk carton
* when the police showed her a picture of her feet, she couldn't identify them
* when the cashier at KFC asked what size bucket she wanted she said,"The one on the roof"
* she sweats Crisco
* she uses bacon for Band-aids
* when she goes to the dry cleaners and hands in her underwear they say "sorry no parachutes accepted"
* that if she weighed 5 more pounds she could get group insurance
* when she went to the Rose Parade everyone thought she was a float
* when she wears heels, they're flats by the afternoon
* when she went to get a water bed, they put a blanket across the great lakes
* when she wears a yellow raincoat, people run after her and call "Taxi!"
* when she wears a yellow raincoat, kids line up behind her thinking she's the school bus
* when she wears a red dress kids yell "Hey Kool-Aid Man."
* when she was diagnosed with the flesh eating disease, the doctor gave her 7 years to live
* when she was born, she gave the hospital stretch marks
* she cut her leg and gravy dripped out
* she can lay down or stand up and her height doesn't change
* one day she was cleaning out her rolls and a car fell out
* NASA orbits satellites around her
* on a scale of 1 to 10, she's a 747
* I've got to tell two snaps just to cover her fat ass
* I saw her in New York, and when I told my friend in LA, he said he'd seen her too
* I saw a picture of her in a magazine on page 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8
* I ran around her twice and got lost
* she got hit by a truck and asked "Who threw that rock?"
* she goes to a restaurant, looks at the menu, and says "Okay."
* she fell in the Grand Canyon and got stuck
* she fell off a boat and the captain yelled "Land Ho!"
* I gotta take 3 steps back just to see all of her
* her belly button doesn't have lint, it has sweaters
* her belly jiggle is the first ever perpetual motion machine
* her belt size is equator
* even God couldn't raise her spirits
* even Richard Simmons laughs at her
* every time she wears high heels, she strikes oil
* her car is made of spandex
* her cereal bowl came with a lifeguard
* her college graduation picture was an aerial
* all of her clothes have to be custom made by a contractor
* her skates went flat
* she has to use sleeping bags for tube socks
* she jumped for joy and got stuck
* she jumped up in the air and got stuck
* she looks like she's smuggling a Volkswagen
* she looks like the Stay-Puff marshmallow man on steroids
* she made weight watchers go blind
* she makes sumo wrestlers look anorexic
* she pulls up a chair to an all-u-can-eat buffet
* she puts mayonnaise on aspirin
* she puts on her lipstick with a paint-roller
* she don't know whether she's walking or rolling
* at the zoo, the elephants started throwing her peanuts
* when she turns around, people throw her a welcome back party
* when she goes swimming she gives the pool stretch marks
* when she walks across the living room, the radio skips
* when she went to the beach Greenpeace tried to haul her back into the ocean
* you can pinch an inch on her forehead
* when she travels, she's gotta make two trips
* when she takes a shower, her feet don't get wet
* when she walks in front of the T.V., you miss 5 minutes of your show
* when she wears corduroy pants, the ridges don't show
* you can't even see her legs, it just looks like she's gliding across the floor
* when she steps on a scale, it says "One at a time, please."
* when she saw a yellow bus going down the road she yelled "Hey! Stop that Twinkie!"
* when she played hide-n-go-seek, she hid behind a water tower
* when she runs she makes the CD player skip — at the radio station
* when she ordered a "My Size Meal" at McDonald's they gave her the key to the store
* when she hauls ass, she has friends come help
* when she hauls ass, she has to make two trips
* when she ordered a "My Size Meal" at McDonald's they gave her a dinosaur
* when she goes to the circus she sees the big top and asks "Where can I try that on?"
* when she goes to the beach, little kids yell "Free Willy, Free Willy!"
* when she goes to a restaurant, she doesn't get a menu, she gets an estimate
* when she gets in an elevator, it has to go down

Scam-a-lam-a-ding-dong

2008-06-11T11:19:00.003-06:00

Did you know that the wedding industry is one ginorvast scam? Yes, children: anyone who puts "bridal" or "wedding" in their business name or tag line is ready, willing and able to do whatever it takes to separate you from your shekels.

A few facts:

There are somewhere around 2.5 million weddings every year in the United States.

The average budget for a wedding is estimated to be $20,000.

$40 - 70 billion is spent on weddings every year in the U.S.

On average, couples spend $3,800 for their honeymoon.

The average household income of a newly married couple is $55,000/annually.

You may or may not know Superfly and I are getting married this summer. We won't be spending $20,000. I am only a Bridezilla when some wedding-related business owner tries to rip me off. And they all do, all the time.

We've been very lucky to find vendors we adore, who are honest and talented at what they do. Except when it came to alterations on my dress.

I wouldn't be caught dead in a traditional bridal salon any more than I would buy a car from a pawn shop. My gown is Vera Wang, bitches. You see, there's a whole side industry of married ladies who did buy their gown at Kleinfelds, selling those couture gowns online. Certainly she didn't recoup much of her expense, but she got it out of her house and I get a gorgeous designer dress for peanuts.

Problem: alterations. Most idiot salons will not alter gowns not purchased at their store and many tailor/seamstress shops are hesitant to take on wedding gowns (and, presumably, the robo-bitches holding them).

Anyway, the gown + cleaning + alterations + accessories = $1,000

Retail price for the gown alone? $5,200

And that, dear readers, is how you STICK IT to an industry that shamelessly, gleefully robs us, our friends and relatives, and everyone else, of every ill-gotten dime.

Sex and the City

2008-05-13T11:40:00.003-06:00

When I say I've never watched a single episode of "Sex and the City", I mean not one second of any show, any year, any rerun. When women I know and like tell me they "secretly" watch or love SATC, I am inconsolable, my heart sinks.

You know who probably adores SATC? Who brays to her terrifying girlfriends about "BLAHniks" and "Cozmos"? Sandy Whatsherface.

Sandy and I worked together at a major investment bank, on the Mergers and Acquisitions floor, in midtown Manhattan. I was the hot, young broker's assistant and she was the 300-year old broker's assistant. Where I usually looked like I walked off MTV's The Grind, Sandy looked like she walked off the set of Golden Girls, even though she was probably in her '30s.

Sandy had her band of Staten Island groupies, who toiled in the file room or at the switchboard. They would eat up all Sandy's gossip and participate in her high school antics, like looking over their low cubicles over at me and my friend, Jennifer, a timid Long Island girl, and whispering and cackling. In the cafeteria they would gather with their Diet Cokes to read aloud Candace Bushnell's column from the New York Observer.

Because I was young, arrogant, I was sure I could write circles around some Observer hack who probably had to do unspeakable things to get that gig. From what I unwillingly overheard in the cafeteria, this Candace Bushnell was just an idiotic, narcissistic slut who got what she deserved.

My boyfriend at the time worked for Murdoch himself, a friend of the family. As a result, we went to some swanky events. Lo, I was introduced to people who were newspaper headlines. I saw La Bushnell at a party in the Rainbow Room and had all my prejudices confirmed.

Back at the salt mines, I made a beeline over to Sandy and gave her my most obnoxious smile. "Sandy," I purred, "You just won't believe who I met this weekend — your hero, Candace Bushnell!" She scowled and said, "You're lying." I just ha-ha'd and told her that she, Sandy, was classier than icky Candace Bushnell.

She looked incredulously at her gaggle of Diet Coke goons. "I can't believe you would say that, you are such a little bitch. How dare you!"

Apparently, stupid people don't appreciate having their idols run down. Who knew?

What happened next is, of course, the Sandys won. I was called into the HR department to discuss my attitude and offered a demotion. Candace Bushnell was actually taken very seriously and weirdly adored by the Gays. She is now very rich, indeed, and her odious offspring, SATC, is bound for "Classic" TV show anointment.

Here's my review of SATC: The Movie, without me ever seeing it or knowing the characters and their stupid story lines: It's an idiotic, narcissistic, totally gay waste of time about some ugly old sluts.

Sandy is probably having an SATC Party with her creepy girlfriends and dressing up to go to the movies in Staten Island. She found some Manolo Blahnik shoes at Century 21, maybe, to class-up her usual ill-fitting and unfashionable outfit.

Good for her. I never had the chance to get to know Sandy deeply, so pardon my conjecture. It's not her fault that Candace Bushnell wrote a revolting column in a forgettable newspaper. Sandy herself is not responsible for the success of the subsequent revolting TV show, or the movie. In truth, Sandys are the victims in this scenario.

What is SATC trying to sell us? Whatever it is, I ain't buying.

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-08T09:56:00.000-06:00

We Are Adorably Engaged, no?

2008-04-24T14:39:00.003-06:00

Back from a fun-filled Engagement Party and Passover trip to the East Coast. Wonderful to see family and friends and former co-workers. Outstanding to be back at home, in my own bed. I think we overstayed by a day or two — one week is a good limit for sleeping at other people's homes.

You may have heard about this Pope fella visiting DC and New York. Not being Catholic, it made barely a blip in my attention sphere. However, my father said to me, "Are you going to be saving the Pope again?" And, in wholly separate cell phone conversation, my sister said to me, "You should dust off and update that Pope story you wrote."

In 1993 or so, I wrote a bunch of short stories. I believed them to be extraordinarily clever and meaningful, so I sent the whole shebang off to my family members and close friends. And a couple of publishing agents, who never responded, but they were obviously overwhelmed with unsolicited manuscripts and simply didn't see or read them. Obviously.

Anyway, one of those stories involved a bus-riding temporary secretary who accidentally saves the life of the Pope. It was during the previous Pope's visit to Denver that prompted me to use the Pontiff as a character in my story. The lead character in the story borrowed a lot of basic data from me but remains a fictional character. No amount of this type of explanation convinces my father that the character is anyone but me.

I guess that both remembered my stupid short story after 15 years should be a source of pride. Perhaps a re-write, update, or Part Deux of "The Pope and the Temp" is in order, I don't know. What I do know is that re-reading stuff I wrote 15 years ago fills me with a sharp and pungent sense of shame.

The only thing worse than that short story from 1993 is the contrived and cliche-clogged action movie screenplay from the same uselessly productive year. Argh.

The best part of being engaged is not necessarily the gifts (although they are welcome and drooled-over): it's actually the excuse of wedding planning that distracts you from everything else in your life and causes people to treat you sweetly and kindly everywhere we go.

Oh, and here's a buried lede for you: I'm teaching a class on web editing in May!

I plan to use the whole wedding thing to bail me out when they get bored or irate during my presentations.

Dem Bones

2008-04-08T17:56:00.002-06:00

I am under the care of a chiropractor. Did you just scoff? Scoff away to your heart's content. I am aware of the controversy surrounding the medical profession, having seen the episode of the Simpsons dealing with the topic. Oh, and some anecdotal blahbeddy-blah about chiro foul-ups that paralyzed or killed people which sounded a lot like those lipstick-on-the-mirror-AIDS-message urban legends. WHAT-evs.

Regular readers of this blog know that I've complained about my back pain for the entire three years of this web diary thingy's existence. Physical therapy? 12 weeks worth. X-rays and consultation with an orthopedic specialist? Yes, and the co-pay was outrageous. Pain relievers and anti-inflammatory meds? Check. Yoga, Pilates, and gentle strength-training? Forever.

Yet the pain raged on. My long time physician and the three physical therapists all recommended I see a chiropractor. Like you, I scoffed. If they are so good, why aren't they recognized by the Academy of Medical Poobahs? Oh, they are? Ok then, why doesn't my insurance cover it. What do you mean it does? Hmm.

It's my second day of seeing Dr. Brad. It took him all of 30 seconds to find and correct the source of my pain. I'm not kidding, people. My back pain is GONE. I'll see him a handful more times and then as needed. That's it. No drugs, no stupid, useless exercises, no surgery. Just some twisting, cracking and popping, none of which hurts but all of which gives me a start and makes me chirp and coo unexpectedly.

Probably not for everyone. But what a chiropractor has done for me in 48 hours, versus 2+ years of traditional time-wasting, has my body loose and my mind ecstatic.

HOORAY for quackery! Long live non-traditional medicine! I'll have more of that Kool-Aid, thank you! Whee!

April Fool's Day

2008-04-01T14:58:00.003-06:00

Gawker wants you to think Conde Nast bought Jezebel.com. They are probably apoplectic with glee at the ha-ha phony posts ("Must Haves for Spring!") that are wreaking havoc on for-some-reason clueless commenters.

I've heard of slow news days but this is ridiculous.

I don't know anyone, personally, who pulls AFD pranks because I've successfully weeded them out over the years. Chacun a son gout, bien sur, but I cannot tolerate that behavior. Want to "Punk" your friends? Are you a "Jackass"? Stay away from me, pal, I have absolutely no sense of humor about that stupid shit. I promise to go out of my way to ruin your prank. And maim you in the process. Oh,yeah, it's like that.

Have you seen this show, "The Real Wedding Crashers"? The bride and groom arrange to prank their wedding guests, hard. Have your relationships with your family, friends and fiance deteriorated to a dark, smelly place where you have to torture them to get a laugh?

I should grow a sense of humor? Really? I laugh at a lot of things. Things that are actually funny.

As far as I am concerned, it's April 1. Tomorrow there will be some hurt feelings to soothe for the "merry" pranksters of this world. P.S. You AREN'T FUCKING FUNNY.

Birthday #40

2008-03-24T22:58:00.003-06:00

It wasn't as bad or as hard as I thought it would be, turning 40. What helped tremendously were the well wishes of my friends and family all day long.

Though I searched my face entirely too close to the zoom mirror I found no wrinkles and the persistent gray hairs are easily drowned in dye. People are always surprised to learn how old I am — not in the polite bartender way, more in the get-out-your-drivers-license-and-prove-it way, which is more pleasing than it really needs to be.

I sure don't "feel" 40. I feel like a wiser and more experienced version of myself at 16.

We had an engagement photo shoot today which was an almost intolerable amount of fun. I shall post the adorableness when it becomes available.

My lovely fiance and my best friend took me to dinner at the fancy pants restaurant where Trouble Jr. slaves over a hot stove (she was not in attendance, being busy in Hawaii) and we had a seriously gorgeous dinner.

In other words, I had a happy birthday indeed, thank you.

Next Stop: NYC

2008-03-18T15:40:00.002-06:00

Our wagon will be hitching its way Eastward real soon, folks. Love to see you, obvs, and we're having a little party to celebrate our engagement.

So what I'm saying is get in touch and provide contact info and such. We'll be in NYC, PA and MD during our stay, FYI.

Please to send your email, mail, or phone info to: worldoftrouble@fastmail.us

Where's Trouble-O?

2008-03-06T19:35:00.001-07:00

Click on the above title to watch a video in which I make a brief appearance.

Hello there!

2008-03-04T14:13:00.003-07:00

Don't mind me, I'm just doing a gimp-by post. Recovering from liposuction is an incredibly glamorous way to pass your free time and I recommend it to you without reservation.

Just think: sleeping flat on your back all night, every night, not sitting down without a minimum three pillows behind your back to achieve the only tolerable seating position, that is, leaning back as far as you can from standing. Forget stairs, forget riding in cars, forget picking up things off the floor.

For three weeks post-op I am a crippled, bad-tempered toddler.

Dr. Porsche just laughs, says I'll be thrilled with the result...eventually.

When I think of people who have liposuction I think of actresses, porn stars and trophy wives. Perhaps also people who are lazy and hate to work out. Never in a million years would I imagine myself in this situation. After all, there are so many things I could do with that money!

The thing is, I work out like a fiend — I always have. After each baby I dropped the excess weight like my ass was on fire. But Lithium, bless its little mineral heart, gave me weight that wouldn't budge, no matter what I did. And the surgery was practically free, and done by the best lipo doc in Colorado. He was even on the Today show!

Anyway, need + opportunity = me waddling around in a house dress popping pain pills.

One amusing anecdote before I get back to leaning: My 9-year old girl says to me, "Mom, you should go on that 'Bulging Brides' show." Now who might have that sweet little girl overheard saying something so nasty about her mother?

Oh, and let's all give a warm welcome to my ex-husband and his new wife, who are apparently regular readers of this blog. Welcome!

Surgery Day the First

2008-02-24T07:30:00.003-07:00

Couldn't sleep last night, hope that means I'll zonk out for the whole thing. Something about peering up at a bunch of doctors while they murmur and joke as my guts are sucked out just gives me the creeps.

Between this, Surgery the Second, and my utter commitment to my personal trainer, Bruce, who is also a puppy foster dad for the Humane Society, (Love!) I will be fitting into the gorgeous Vera Wang dress I bought for my wedding.

Or, you know, heads will roll.

We are off to Dr. Porsche's office for my little adjustment!

UPDATE: Well, I was awake for the entire thing and had the unique opportunity to listen in on plastic surgeons discussing Kanye West's mother's death. My doc proudly announced, "We sucked out 3 lbs of fat!" After the puke-tastic reaction to Vicodin I am now abed, being coddled, and awaiting the bruises to go away and the swelling to go down. There is a celebratory belly shirt in my near future!

Going to the Chapel

2008-02-18T14:18:00.002-07:00

Well now, it's official: Superfly and Trouble will wed.

Fresh on the heels of the Democratic National Convention in Denver, CO will be the Great Kosher Luau, a/k/a our delightful nuptials.

Want to get a fancy invite? Send me an email, why don't you: worldoftrouble@fastmail.us.

What's that? Did someone say the word "Bridezilla"? Bite your tongue. I am the sweetest, most reasonable bride in history. But I swear, if that DJ plays any kind of goofy line-dancing song I will HAVE HIS ASS!

Oh, and, you bet your sweet ass we are registered.

Mercury Retrograde

2008-02-12T09:13:00.000-07:00

While wrestling with the bizarro events of the last few weeks I noticed that our favorite planet of communication breakdown, Mercury, is retrograde until February 19.

Now before you start wondering when I became a hippie doofus, answer these questions:

Have you received weird phone calls or emails in the last month?

Have you had your feelings hurt, or hurt another's feelings, thanks to misunderstanding?

Do you feel like, lately, you just aren't getting through to people?

Thank Mercury. Just don't take my word for it, read all about it here.

Don't Fucking Judge Me, People

2008-02-10T00:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight I attended the birthday party of a girl I've known since middle school. She looks fabulous and apparently has a full and happy life. I'm super glad for her and was thankful for the invite to her party.

The whole 8th grade crew was there and we all hugged and smiled and shared our lives with each other. Two of my closest friends from that awful time in my life, when my mother's mental illness really kicked in and I started my bipolar episodes. All those friends said they felt at the time that something was wrong with me. Neat.

Those women are now mothers, like me. Those women suffered postpartum depression and have an inkling what it means to suffer mental illness.

Yet I was told by one friend that the other friends didn't want to talk to me, were concerned about seeing me. I never did any harm to those people, and they had no idea what I'd been through, but they came to a decision in their narrow brains that I was no longer someone worth being friends with.

Gossip is always bullshit. If you want to know about goings on in a particular person's life, it's always best to ask them personally. And if you hear that a person is going through a hard time and/or had bad things happen to them, it behooves you to decide if it's none of your damn business or what can you do to help your friend.

Sniping behind a person's back and casting damning judgments upon them is the work of weak minds and bad "friends".

You know what? If you don't like me for who I am, mental illness and all, then fuck you very much.

I cried the whole way home from this party, after a drunk individual clued me in to the others' gossip. Why do I care? I was so happy to see my old friends after all these years and they sure made a big deal out of seeing me and wanting to get together and such. One of them in particular knows me better than almost anyone. Her family took me in, to some degree, when my own home was incredibly dangerous. Now it's all sweetness to my face and get-me-away-from-her behind my back.

I was not drinking or acting foolish. I was unnaturally quiet and still. I guess I disappointed everyone by not chugging tequila and dancing on the bar. It took me awhile to figure out I was a pariah.

I left and cried the whole way home. I cry so rarely that I'm not sure my eyes knew what to do.

This sucks.

Surgery Journal, Part Deux

2008-02-09T16:01:00.000-07:00

There are actually two happening in the next couple of months. The first is the last week of February, I cannot wait! The surgeon is well-known, he's even been on the "Today" show. As he examines my nude form we talk about cars. He's a Porsche guy.

He looks like a lot of guys who contacted me on JDate. Despite this, he's a swell guy. His assistant is mega-efficient and scares me just a little.

The second surgery is caught up in interminable insurance foolishness. I don't want to get my hopes up any higher than they are, but that surgeon does appear confident. He doesn't look like a surgeon, by the by, he looks like a college professor. Western Civ, maybe. He shares a name (though differently spelled) with a Urologist I once knew, who was an utter bastard.

Little-Known Trouble Fact: I was a grantwriter for the Dept. of Urology and secretary to a world-famous prostate cancer researcher/surgeon. As part of my job I got to call little old men and ask them about their erections.

I am tempted to post before and afters. Not that tempted!

Open Letter to Amy and Britney

2008-02-08T10:29:00.000-07:00

Girls, take a seat a listen. Who am I? Something of an authority on being Bipolar, that's who. I have some learnin' to share with you that I know will help, if you'll just pay attention.

A Bipolar celebrity is a little redundant, since most BPD sufferers feel like the star of the show anyway. Not to mention that a staggering number of artists, musicians, authors, and other celebrities are Bipolar. Something about creativity and the mysterious region of the brain from whence BPD sprouts, but that's for the eggheads to work out.

Me, I was diagnosed back in 2002, in the midst of spectacularly awful breakdown. What you feel when you are diagnosed is usually a heady mix of rage, shame, paranoia and bitter disappointment, often resulting in substance abuse. Which, as you know, makes things exponentially worse.

Try not to dwell on the fact that something is wrong with you. Instead, endeavor to do something about it. Surrender to the help from family and doctors who still love you, even though you are killing them with your bullshit. Quietly disassociate from those people trying to control and exploit you. Listen, I've been there. This is hard to do. Your life does actually depend on you getting rid of these people, though. Focus on the people who matter: your family (and Britney, your babies).

The irony of trading illegal drugs for far more dangerous legal ones rankles, but, Alice, the one makes you sick and the other makes you well. Eventually!

Finding the therapy that works best for you takes time and a willingness on your part to be proactive in your health. Lithium works best for BPD. When you first start Lithium treatment, you will feel spacey and emotionally dull. You will likely gain weight. You'll suffer alternating constipation and diarrhea. Your teeth will rot (for you, Amy, perhaps not an issue). You will go to the doctor's office a lot, to have your blood levels checked and for various complaints.

But you begin to think clearer than you ever have before. Your true personality — not that crazy slut addict who is currently trying to kill you, she's not real — emerges; talent, charm, sanity intact. You see, you are diseased right now, as if you were running around with oozing scabs all over your body that only you can see.

GET HELP. The only thing that will change is the paparazzi, who will quickly grow bored of your healthy lifestyle and quiet success. Oh, and a little thing called happiness. Not the fleeting, thrill-seeking happiness, rather the effortless, permanent kind.

GET HELP. Start with a psychiatrist and a proper Med Eval. Comply with your treatment. When you can, add cognitive behavior therapist with experience with Bipolar patients. Skip the "licensed counselors", they are not prepared for your needs. Exercise, dance, sing, take classes in things that interest you, travel, spend time with your family, repairing those burnt bridges. Stay clear of your old party friends.

FYI, I lived this (minus the illegal drugs) and came out of it better than ever. I'm four years stable and get the "meh" treatment from my psychiatrist and therapist. I comply with almost everything they tell me to do (there was this one psych doc who was a little too eager to put me on experimental drugs, he was fired) and do what I can to mitigate the side effects of Lithium.

My bridges are completely repaired and fortified. I feel amazing. Now, I don't have talent like you two girls, but I have my little journalism career and I'm enjoying enough success to occasionally get VIP treatment. That suits me. If you take my advice your comebacks will make history. Not infamy, history.

Here's what you should do right now: have a flunky go out and buy you a copy of An Unquiet Mind by Kay Redfield Jamison. Take a highlighter pen and read the book. When something Kay writes connects with your addled brain, highlight it. Take that book with you to your psych/therapist and show off the neon pages.

I still have that book and I read it from time to time, to remind me of the brave steps I took to save myself. Amy, Britney, I'm praying for you. Call or write me anytime, just to talk.

Quarantine

2008-02-03T23:28:00.001-07:00

Great Caesar's Ghost! Talk about communicable disease. We all got it; me, Superfly, the Troublets, even Trouble Jr.

It starts with a run down, cranky feeling
Then the sandpaper coughing and violent sneezing
Soon you are swooning in bed with spiky fever
Some have nausea and vomiting, some are more the ebola diarrhea type
Everyone clutches their tissue box in a vise grip
Everyone wears 8 layers of clothes and still shivers
We've run through two boxes of tea and two honey bears

A week later, I am the only one well enough to make the tea, take temperatures, pick up the snot rags and dispense Nyquil/Tylenol Cold for Kids.

So, if you haven't caught this nastiness yet, let me make a few recommendations on how best to prepare:

(Make these purchases at Costco)

Nyquil
Puffs Plus with Vicks
The good humidifier
Chicken soup
Honey-lemon throat drops
Digital thermometer
Thick, flannel pajamas
Socks
Saltines
Ginger Ale, if you hate Gatorade as much as I do

Believe me, you're gonna get sick. Don't matter that you got a flu shot, it'll catch up to you. Just collect this stuff now while you're well. Trust me.

Dr. Trouble, at your service.

Surgery Journal, Chapter One

2008-01-29T18:04:00.000-07:00

It's considered elective surgery but it couldn't be any more necessary to me. Sparing you gory details galore, I'll just say that I meet every single qualification necessary to have this procedure covered completely by insurance.

Except that these days insurance companies will balk for the flimsiest reasons, whether for denial of new cancer-fighting drugs because of "insufficient scientific research and/or long-term testing data", or denial of money-saving and good-for-everyone laser eye surgery.

My surgeon assures me that he's worked with my insurance company before and said he hadn't seen a case before where the patient met and exceeded qualifying conditions, as I apparently do.

If I haven't heard back from the doctor's office within two weeks I'm to call them and check on the progress of my pre-authorization claim.

If I am denied and denied again on appeal, I shall be forced to sell my plasma and possibly start walking the streets to pay for my surgery.

If I am approved, I go under the knife within 6 weeks.

Sparkles and Bosch

2008-01-28T17:01:00.001-07:00

Matthew Sullivan wrote that title in my yearbook. Whenever I encounter incongruous happiness I think of that phrase and I think of Matthew Sullivan.

Matthew (not Matt) was always a big fish, even in junior high. Not only was he imposingly tall, he was loud, brash, and contrary. Even teachers gave him a wide berth, lest he lay them low with cutting remarks or revealing comments. The principal was thoroughly intimidated and usually chose not to have Matthew in his office for detention.

For whatever reason, Matthew and I were always friendly to one another and I was spared his venom. By high school the other boys grew to Matthew's height and were no longer worried about his savage verbal beatings or his turbo wedgies. We were both weirdo outsiders in our high school, me of the punker chick variety, he of the tortured artist variety. Man, could he draw! I remember the idiot jocks calling him "fag", or whatever, because he was an artist who looked like a linebacker and talked like a college professor.

I saw him rarely, but when I did we usually would hang out for a few hours talking about our dreams for the future and the latest gossip. It was the last time I saw Matthew Sullivan that I handed him my stupid yearbook to sign.

He drew a crazed cartoon version of himself behind the wheel of a futuristic bubble car, waving madly. "Sparkles and Bosch!" he wrote, "I'm off to be a famous artist!"

Years later I had a roommate who apparently went to college with Matthew. "You KNOW Matthew Sullivan?" he asked, mouth agape and eyes wide.

I'm having a Sparkles and Bosch kind of week. How about you?

Not Again

2008-01-23T19:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I am overly enthusiastic about my job, and overshare information with people who then endeavor to use me, exploit me, and otherwise tempt me to plan their bloody, heinous demise.

The problem lies in my wanting to partner with people or help them in their own jobs. I'm peace-loving and obsessed with justice and fairness. I'm not the devious, back-stabbing sort like the people regularly promoted on reality TV. Those people are as cowardly as human beings can be and I despise them. When I do bad things to people it is always well-earned and the unlucky soul pre-warned and given plenty of chances to make right.

For example, I answered an employment ad for a TV show host. My interview with the producer went extremely well; I liked his previous work and he liked my credentials. At his request I pitched a story and together we met with the source for the story. This producer came off clueless and grasping and I saw on the source's frowny face that he wasn't buying this schmendrick's Hollywood-in-Des Moines spiel. Embarassed, I did my best to redirect the conversation to the topic.

Fresh from success in my real job, I speak to this producer about a lead I'd given him. "Right! We'll be there covering the story. Can you send some questions so our host doesn't look like an idiot?"

At least for now, I'm going with the idea that this guy is clueless rather than diabolical. He'll not hear from me again unless he does something really stupid, like contact my sources. Yes, of course I will alert those sources to my diassociation with this fool, but if I find he steps out of line he will feel the wrath, the terrible wrath, of Trouble.

UPDATE: Happily, I was wrong about the producers intent. One hide saved!

My New Haircut

2008-01-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

Back!

2008-01-17T15:23:00.000-07:00

After all that kvetching, I had an insanely wonderful time in Arizona. About which I shall post after about a year's sleep.

Anonymous Assclown: I wasn't on I-70, except to pick up and drop off the rental car. But I'm waving now!

Intolerable Aggravation

2008-01-11T11:00:00.000-07:00

All I want to do is go on my business trip, come home, and write the story.

All I get is undermining relatives and systemic retardation on the part of travel companies.

Flying from Denver to Phoenix for a few days shouldn't be this much a colossal clusterfuck. Really, people.

I'm done changing plans and accruing penalty fees because the people I depend and rely upon are undependable and unreliable. And useless.

I'm not important enough to have the publication I write for cover travel expenses and I'm not wealthy enough to not care. $100 penalty fees (each way) for changing airline reservations matter to me. Budgeting for little things like restaurant gratuities is very serious business.

So instead of going for next weekend, as was originally planned, I am going in a few days, I'm driving, and I'm couch-surfing at a family friend's house. Journalism is glamorous, nu?

But I will write the ever-livin' Hell out of the story and it will all be worth it. Besides, I'm going somewhere that warns of low temperatures of 70 degrees, in January, and I am taking a race car driving course. There's a good chance that all the stress and strife of this past week, all the yelling at customer service people on the phone, all the threatening to maim my relatives; it just might be worth it.

That is all.

This One Bears Repeating

2008-01-08T14:02:00.000-07:00

I don't know how to re-post old diatribes so you're going to have to click on the title to see what I'm talking about.

Britney, that is.

If I may vent for a moment: I am so motherfucking glad I'm not a celebrity and wasn't hounded by paparazzi night and day, everywhere I went, when I had my breakdown. Whatever her relationship with her kids, the trauma of having a celebrity mom has to harder on them than having a bipolar mom.

I wish Britney had someone she could trust, someone she could rely on to recognize when she's not herself and spinning out of control. Someone who's opinion she cares about, someone who hasn't already let her down.

Like Britney, I had people around more than willing to exploit my condition. It's likely she distrusts everyone she knows right now and feels desperate, lonely and hurt. Hopefully , like me, Britney will have a moment of clarity long enough to surrender to the help she needs.

New Year Hopes, Wishes and Dreams

2008-01-04T13:59:00.000-07:00

I hope America sees a presidential election in which Bloomberg runs against Obama.

I wish reality TV would replaced with interesting and worthwhile television programming.

I hope Ryan Seacrest and Carson Daly battle to the death over who will replace Dick Clark. And both lose.

I wish more women with lovely voices would become successful, instead of histrionic Mariah-wannabes and the loathsome parade of breathy, baby-voiced twats (I'm talking to you Feist, Colbie Caillat, Ingrid Michaelson, Lily Allen, etc.)whom I'd like to punch in their throats.

I hope social networking sites become obsolete.

I dream I'll get married this year.

I wish they would really find a cure.

I hope China doesn't team up with the Middle Eastern Scaries.

I dream of retiring to Hawaii.

I wish I could lose weight by glaring at myself in the mirror.

I hope my friends are well, warm, happy and having fun--wherever they may be.

Hi-dee-ho, Neighborinos!

2008-01-02T12:07:00.000-07:00

Me busy being sick and such spared you from any sort of year-end list. And we are all so fond of those lists, aren't we?

At this point in my life I go to the movie theater about four times per year. I was excited to see the new Pirates movie and psyched about National Treasure II, but we actually went to see Surf's Up and other Disney fare with the kids. Matinee prices, with a coupon. On the other hand, we buy DVD movies like wildfire.

I don't buy CDs, as a rule, so you can't make me care about whatever Arcade Fire bullshit is the hotness of 2007. My IPod is chock-a-block with all the music I like (disco, funk, "baggy" house music, classic rock) and did you know that a wealth of music CDs — along with movies, books on CD and regular books — are available to check out, free of charge, from your local library? No doubt it is illegal to then upload those to your IPod, but really; enough with music indusry greed already.

2007 was notable for our cross-country move, being reunited (and it feels so good!) with Trouble Jr. and the Troublets, dodging major medical bullets, and making a happy home for our little family in the Mile High City.

Also, as I may have mentioned, Robert Plant and Allison Krauss produced an album together, entitled "Raising Sand". It is so awesome, that Bob is touring with Allison this summer, rather than making obscene amounts of money doing Led Zeppelin reunion shows. Have you heard this CD yet? Whatcha waiting for?

New Year's Eve. My BFF JMe throw a lovely dinner party for her friends and admirers and we had a swell time eating, drinking, disco dancing and playing Wii. Who knew I was so good at Wii Bowling? Anyway, I gave up on my champagne-only rule at some point and the resulting pukefest was attended to by both paramedics and the fire dept. Oy and VEY.

I haven't rung in the new year with a hurl since the '90s! Oh, well. My absolutely sober and wonderful Superfly took very good care. Plus, we found a product that cleans puke out of car upholstery like nobody's business!

So, uh, what's new with you?

Sorry No Update

2007-12-28T15:46:00.000-07:00

Guess That Mental Illness!

2007-12-17T11:11:00.001-07:00

In today's edition we have contestant Alycia, an Emmy award-winning Philadelphia news reporter with a winning smile and a cheery disposition -- while she's on air.

Out of reach of the cameras, our girl is famously cunty, and exhibits disturbing behavior that is self-defeating, occasionally violent and always in questionable taste.

Evidence:

December 2007 - While traveling through Manhattan with her DJ boyfriend and some friends, Alycia became vexed by a slow-moving vehicle in their path. After honking and yelling out of the window at the driver in front of them, Alycia and her friends then got out of her car and approached the now-stopped car ahead. The police officers in the unmarked vehicle began questioning Team Alycia. When a female officer asked Alycia to "step back, please", Alycia unleashed a volley of fury, saying, "I don't care if you're a cop, dyke bitch." Shortly after this, Alycia punched the female officer in the face. She was immediately taken into custody.

May 2007 - Alycia mails reportedly provocative photos of herself to Rich, a prominent, married sportscaster. Rich's wife, herself a prominent sportscaster, received the email. Alycia's defense was that she and Rich had been friends for 10 years and often exchanged photos. Rich and his wife vehemently and publically disagreed with this excuse.

Previously - Alycia was married to two men whose marriages she successfully busted up, who then went on to dump her as fast as they could. She is known for asking for dates on Angelo Cataldi's show and asking a Philly newspaper columnist to print her measurements in his media column.

Ok, everybody, let's...DIAGNOSE!

Xmas Music Blows Goats -- Except This!

2007-12-14T12:18:00.000-07:00

Yuletide Zep

And THIS!

Two-Bit Jezebel

2007-12-13T16:14:00.000-07:00

Have you checked out Jezebel? It's a Gawker Media site that a sort of bad-girl snarky. There are lots of boob, bra, period and sex topics. I comment from time-to-time, when a topic interests me and I think I have something worthwhile to add to the fray.

Lately the site has been hysterically pro-slut. Now, even though I am not a slut myself, I do know a whole bunch of women who proudly wear that dingy, tattered banner and gleefully crow about their dirty, nasty selves. You're Empowered! You are the boss of your sexuality! Ho and Hum!

Seriously, ladies, you were supposed to work this thing out in your early '20s. Maybe instead of going to great lengths to prove how bad-ass you are, you should consider going to great lengths in therapy. Go on, work out those issues, dirty, dirty girl. Ugly duckling? Grew up Catholic? Victim of abuse as a child? The place to work that shit out is with the help of a licensed, experienced and caring therapist.

But no-o-o-o-o, better to work it out at the strip joint, eh? Easy money. It's not degrading and exploitative if you like it, right? Same with sex. It's all about your needs being met. Love is boring, random hook-ups with total jerks is better. Because you're free, you hear? You don't have to be considerate of others or protective and responsible about your own body. Herpes is "whatevs", right? No big deal. The booze, coke, meth, smack, and whatever else quiets the conscience, don't it?

I feel sorry for sluts. What happens when you are no longer physically attractive to potential lovers and your body is toxic from drugs, booze and all your other carelessness? If you live that long, of course.

So go ahead, mock my totally normal and private sexual identity. Feel free to get upset when I judge you. I'm happy and I don't have a big hole inside me that I'm trying to fill with temporary enthusiasms and Id worshipping. I don't want that kind of attention and my conscience is clear. The only degradation I have to deal with my life is when I have to go to the DMV.

Believe that it will come back to haunt you. Herpes is not "whatevs", dear. I don't have it (or another other STD), but someone close to me does. That person's life — every part of it — is affected, the present complicated and the future not at all what they'd envisioned for themselves. That person has Herpes because of carelessness in their sex life; it isn't a minor annoyance that they would ever consider "whatevs".

So I just had to get all that out. I just can't get on the Slut Machine bandwagon. Do whatever you want with your body, just don't try to pass your hijinks off as normal, ok, cool, popular or whatever. Eventually you'll grow up.

Whaddaya Mean Itch Last Call?

2007-12-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

We're #1! We're #1!

According to MSNBC, Denver is the "Drunkest Town in the U.S.".

So now you know where the party at, yo.

Cheers!

As I Mentioned Last Month

2007-12-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

If you haven't done so already, please get your butt in gear and purchase this CD: "Raising Sand" from Robert Plant and Allison Krauss. They will tour together next summer and you shall find me right up front, embarrassing myself.

In the meantime, love, love, love this song and video:

Happy Chanukah!

2007-12-04T12:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight is first candle of Chanukah 5768! Fire up that deep-fryer and breakout the applesauce, it's time to light the menorah.

That's it. Other than Chanukah greetings, I got nothing.

December is always hard for me and no amount of exercise, booze, sunshine or repeated viewings of "Dumb and Dumber" will combat the 39 year habit of seasonal depression.

...but I'll give the booze and sunshine another chance.

Be well and happy. That is an order!

Nyah, Nyah

2007-11-26T12:42:00.001-07:00

Don't you just love it when some giant fathead douche gets the smirk wiped off his face on national television?

I also love it when people think they are so smart about football that they bet on a RIDICULOUSLY HUGE spread and end up taking a bath and possibly losing their shirt. Suck it up! [Note: I gave up sports gambling some time ago after doing just that.]

My beloved Eagles took it to the smarmy Patriots every second of the game Sunday night, down to the last second. A.J. Feeley stunned and amazed; Westbrook did his thing; Brady got dunked in sucker sauce several times; special teams shined and DBs held Randy Moss and W.Welker until they were running in place. The Pats managed to squeak out a 3-point victory. Against our third-string quarterback. Foxboro was silent, yo.

Hope future opponents of both teams took notes. The Pats can and will be beaten this season and the Eagles do not suck.

Nothing would please me more than to see this Pats team NOT make the superbowl. Come on, do you really want to live in a country where the Red Sox win the World Series and the Pats win the Superbowl and some dork from Boston wins American Idol? We would have to toss the whole freakin' town in the Harbor to shut them up.

P.S. Tom Brady is a weenie.

Thanksgiving Recipe

2007-11-20T11:23:00.000-07:00

Festive Appetizer

Ingredients:

1 Memory- and anxiety-filled family home
1-4 High-strung parents
1 Over-achieving child with trophy spouse and bratty children
1 Sensitive and needy vegetarian child, doped on Xanax
1 Rebellious child with inappropriate guest
1 Freak child, strung out and/or carrying explosives
1 Beloved gay aunt/uncle/cousin, doped on Xanax
1-3 Doddering old people

Directions:

Gently fold other ingredients into family home and let stand five hours until agitated. Sprinkle acrimony to taste.

Entree and Side Dishes

Ingredients:

1 20-lb roasted turkey, half-burned and half-raw. Smell of burnt plastic will permeate kitchen around time parent discovers the liver and giblets package still inside the bird.
1 serving dish of soggy, strange-looking, smelly stuffing from inside the bird. (Salmonella alert!)
1 casserole of soggy green beans, viscous mushroom soup and burnt fried onion rings
1 casserole of sweet potatoes, thoroughly hidden under a 3" layer of burnt marshmallow.
1 basket of store-bough rolls (which vanish instantly)
1 platter of wiggly cranberry sauce, shaped like the can from whence it came
1 massive bowl of lumpy and cold mashed potatoes
1 bottle of Gewürztraminer wine
1 bottle of Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc
1 bottle of Cinammon Schnapps or Apple Brandy

Directions:

Have parent dramatically carve the turkey with an electronic knife. Pass other ingredients around table until each person has a blob of each item. Now pass the thin, tasteless turkey gravy around to envelope each blob in a grayish-brown blanket. Do not allow anyone to begin eating until prayers, thankfulness assertions, or other captive audience harangues are complete, ensuring food will be cold and gelatinous.

Where's the Beef?

Ingredients:

1 Blowhard

Directions:

Prepare for the eventuality of one of your guests blurting out something that will ignite a firestorm of controversy. Have at your disposal cutting remarks that are sure to shame the blowhard into silence. The more embarassing and personal your remarks, the better result. Have a portable phone in your hand to call the police when a fight breaks out.

Dessert

Ingredients:

2 pies, one pumpkin and one apple
2 gallons vanilla ice cream
4 tubs of Cool Whip

Directions:

Set out ingredients and holler down the stairs to the TV room that dessert is ready. Take your glass of wine and a cigarette out on the porch and mutter to yourself.

Wanna Hear a Sad Story?

2007-11-16T14:23:00.001-07:00

My oldest daughter was born in 1989, a few months after I turned 21. Her father is someone with whom I had a casually tempestuous relationship; we were no longer together. The reasons we broke up during my pregnancy were simple: I can't tolerate being upstaged by addiction.

I only blamed him for specific things he did, not for his addiction problems. He comes from a long line of alcoholics and had a tragic childhood. That's something we bonded over, actually, but I don't have experience with alcoholism and drug addiction and couldn't understand, cope or help him in any real way.

Being a single mother is so hard, even without the burden of stigma. I had a very supportive family and did my absolute best to give her a normal, happy, beloved childhood. When she was an appropriate age, I told her more about her dad (not in a vindictive way, mind you) and warned her about the burdens that children of alcoholics and addicts face in their own lives. I'm sure it was a bizarre discussion, seeing that she didn't remember her father or known any addicts in her young life.

I heard from him now and then — he even moved to our town for a year or so. Of course I arranged visitations but had to end them when I found my kindergartener playing with a bong. He left soon after and I heard he'd been arrested for trying to sell dope to an undercover cop. I despaired for my daughter, who looks so much like him and showed signs early on that she'd inherited his fiery Irish temper and stubbornness.

Then, when Trouble Jr. was in Jr. high, her dad appeared again. He spent time with her, took her shopping, and introduced her to her aunts and cousins, who were driving him from one coast to the other. They wanted to take Trouble Jr. with them. I checked first to see if my body was dead and then told them, "No." They pleaded, argued and threatened, but there was no way in Hell I was giving in. We didn't hear from her dad after that episode.

Now she's a freshman in college. She wants to know more about her dad, get in touch with him and get to know him. I happen to know the world's greatest private detective, so I asked him for advice. He took time out of his no doubt busy snoop business and found some phone numbers. I am hopeful.

Want to know what attracted me to this guy? It was a house party in 1988, and I was there with my roommate at the time, a free spirit named Careen. I'd hurt myself in dance class and was gimping around on crutches. In walks this 6'4" man in shorts and a polo shirt, dragging on a cigarette and talking loudly to his friend. He looked over at me and then knocked over a few people on his way to my chair. He smiled this gigantic Cheshire Cat grin and tried to dazzle me with his brilliant blue eyes. He said something incredibly stupid and offensive that involved the word "cripple". I was completely charmed.

18+ years later, I believe I've learned my lesson about charming cads! (Yes, it took that long)

Anyway, darlings, please keep Trouble Jr. in your thoughts, and wish for her that she finds her dad and that he is good to her. Thank you.

I'm Out of My Mind Right Now, Please Leave a Message

2007-11-15T11:41:00.001-07:00

Take one part existential distraction, two parts psychological distress due to newly-clarified self-awareness and people actively working against me, and a jigger of heretofore unknown self-consciousness and you've got yourself one mixed-up, gobsmacked, and seconds away from hurtling down the street towards the closest happy hour Trouble.

Hopefully it'll pass.

Coincidentally

2007-11-08T09:47:00.000-07:00

My troublets are "off-track" at school, meaning their stupid, overcrowded, year-round school ejected them for a week. Good for me and we're all happy and having fun.

We went to library for fresh bedtime reading material and unanimously decided upon the works of author Dav Pilkey, specifically the Captain Underpants stories.

Maybe you are unfamiliar. Maybe you should surreptitiously check them out. I promise it will appeal to the elementary school-aged nerd in all of you. Prepare to snicker.

This morning, among the extremely stupid things passing for news on MSN Today, I found this:

"Tra-la-laaaaaaaaa!"

Maybe You Wondered About My Halloween Costume

2007-11-03T12:48:00.000-06:00

Back in the US, CO

2007-11-01T20:08:00.000-06:00

What a wild and woolly trip that was. Sorry about the rant about flying, I guess I was a little upset with other people's selfishness.

We are home now and have found a Colt .45 bottle and some PBR cans in our fridge. Trouble Jr. must have been entertaining classy company! Nothing bad happened — as far as I can tell — and we are glad to be back where people are sane. Vegas is nuts!

Perfectly normal, everyday people step off the plane from their mid-western town and magically transform into zombie slot sluts, Girls Gone Wild, or Mr. "I'm a V.I.P." within an instant. Mister, I know your wife and kids back in Altoona would be shocked to see those lap dancers slithering down your Dockers. Lady, I bet your neighbors in St. Louis have never seen you in that miniskirt, dancing like that.

Chacun a son gout, as les francais say. I can't help but see the con going on, everywhere you look. Everything in Las Vegas is designed to separate you from as much of your money as possible, with you eager, obliging and smiling the whole way.

Easy for me to say, I guess. I just spent 6 days living it up in Las Vegas and ended up spending less than I would've just hanging around Denver. The only gambling I did was a quick run at a penny slot machine. I won $20 and left it at that. Superfly played some poker and ended up breaking even. Not too shabby!

It's good to be home, where when I hand someone or some business my money I get something in return.

Flying

2007-10-30T16:21:00.000-06:00

For the love of all that is holy, people, CHECK YOUR BAGS WHEN YOU FLY! Seriously, the time you think you're making up by not going to baggage claim is time we have to waste waiting on your lumbering ass to pull your overstuffed piece of shit bag out of the overhead compartment. Every single motherfucker on the plane, except me. I (eventually) sail off the plane, zip through the airport, pick up my bags and leave. I'm begging you: stop.

I'm very serious about this. So serious, I've rage-blogged about it before.

Also, please know that if you drink coffee, a bottle of water and a soda while sitting on your seat you will be forced to wake your aisle-seated neighbor five different times during the flight so you can visit the lavatory. You aren't power exercising, friend: be kind to your fellow passengers and karma will reward you.

It can't be said often enough: SHUT THE FUCK UP.

SERENITY NOW!

So I'm here in Las Vegas. Having a great time. Live blogging! http://troubleonwheels.blogspot.com

5 Words

2007-10-26T14:36:00.001-06:00

My Mom Is On Facebook

Dirty Vegas

2007-10-26T11:29:00.000-06:00

Ah yes: hot rods, frantic PR folks, burnout contests, car "celebrities" and flag girls. It must be time for SEMA! The Specialized Equipment Marketing Association (SEMA) show is known for concept car debuts and a tremendous amount of hoonage.

I'm on assignment there and will (hopefully) be live-blogging and posting awesome photos over at my other blog, the one that is a scoonch more professional: http://troubleonwheels.blogspot.com.

Not a tremendous amount of free time, but do you have any suggestions for fun things to do in Vegas?

The Thing About Comedy Clubs

2007-10-23T10:48:00.000-06:00

1. Unless you know one of the jokesters or got comp tickets, you paid around $20 pp to enter the club.

2. If it was an off-night or the comedians aren't well-known, you can have your choice of seats. Otherwise, it's an elbow-to-asshole dash to sit together with your friends.

3. A 2-drink minimum seems a universal policy. Something innocuous &mdash say, a Coors Light — will probably set you back $10. Every comedy club server I've seen looks like she was up all night offering the blow-for-blow special to the club's headliner. She hates you, by the way.

4. The first act is lame and gets mostly polite laughs. He/she sweats this one out while several obnoxies in the audience commence complaining about every damn thing.

5. Booze takes affect by the second act, causing the audience noise level to drastically increase. People tell their own jokes to their friends, or make fun of someone the group knows and they all cackle and roar.

6. The first act is now at the bar, staring daggers at the second act and trying to pick up the non-responsive server. If you look around the audience you can pick out the teetotalers: they look confused, depressed and disgusted.

7. By the time the headliner "ta-da"s on the stage the audience is primed. By primed, they mean slobbering, laughing uncontrollably when the act merely raises an eyebrow, and one cocktail and one joke about dating away from puking.

8. The lights go up, the bills are presented, everyone goes back to the relative dreariness of their life.

I know a couple of comedians. They're super nice people, funny, entertaining. I hope they get to do more than touring comedy clubs. Can you imagine how dispiriting it must be to face the above scenario, night after night, town after town?

Rarely, I will go to the comedy club, usually in support of a comedian I know. I have to get good and drunk to enjoy it, otherwise I'll spend the whole night taking in all the depressing, greedy, misanthropic energy of the place.

Not fun or funny, says I.

Hurricane Trouble

2007-10-19T11:38:00.000-06:00

* 1.5 ounces light rum
* 1.5 ounces dark rum
* 1 ounce orange juice
* 1 ounce fresh lime juice
* 1/4 cup passion fruit juice
* 1 teaspoon superfine sugar
* 1 teaspoon grenadine
* Cherries with stems, and orange slice to garnish
* Ice cubes
Let me tell you something about this cocktail: It is my kryptonite. Probably a significant number of other people recall the lure ("Refreshing!" "Fruity!") and the stealthy way the rum sneaks up behind you, whistling distractedly, and konks you over the head precisely when you think, "What's all the hubbub with this drink? It's yummy. I don't need no stinking limits!"

Rum=Naked
Tequila=Jail
Gin=Sick, like Ebola Sick
Vodka=Fights
Whiskey=New, Unwanted Friends
Shots=You Doing Unbelievably Stupid Things

I've only been falling-down-gibberish-blather drunk a handful of times in my life, mostly because alcohol was always readily available to me at home. There was no mystique, really, so I didn't have that "Girls Gone Wild" college experience with booze. Oh, and I had a 21 fake ID when I was 15 and went out clubbing with my sisters. Seeing adults behaving badly was an excellent deterrent.

Guess what I drank those handful of slobbering idiot times? Hurricanes.

One time, on my birthday, I had a luau party. This was a challenge because my birthday is in March, the snowiest month in Denver. There was indeed a blizzard, but my friends rallied and wore their coconut bras, grass skirts and aloha shirts under their parkas. The bar owners were absolutely charmed by us, and announced a drink special in my honor. Hurricanes for $2! Whee!

So I woke up the next morning in a strange bed, next to a strange person, naked, and oh yes: my very best thong hanging limply on the ceiling fan. This is where I point out that (minus rum-based tropical cocktails) I am not one of those girls. Nope, not. I'm a serial monogamist and abjectly terrified of one night stands.

So you'd think I would learn, eh? Well, Superfly and I went to a new karaoke place, and the regular gang was all there. The server tells us it's Ladies Night and Hurricanes are $2. I'll bet the Hawaiian girls are cursing me right now for talking them into it. Supey correctly predicted the outcome, of course. I am hungover like a sumbitch and have no memory of driving home and going to bed.

Forget roofies, guys. If you want that girl retarded and naked, buy them a few Hurricanes!

Rockies in the World Series. Now Here's Some Real News!

2007-10-17T14:00:00.000-06:00

Robert Plant. Allison Krause. An album of soulful, beautiful, ethereal duets. She's a little bit Bluegrass and he's a little bit Rock 'N Roll. In both cases, by "a little bit" I actually mean "titans of their craft".

You MUST acquire this CD.

Monday Blues

2007-10-15T13:58:00.000-06:00

* Someone please remind me again why volunteering to edit the local Hadassah chapter's bulletin was a good idea? I'm all yenta'd out.

* We found a place here that has karaoke 7 days/week. We found that going out for karaoke on a Sunday night is not such a hot idea.

* Mercury is still retrograde, people.

* At my advanced age, I still have not learned to be cordial to everyone, even the people I desperately want to stab in the eye. I'm beginning to think it's this — rather than a youthful appearance or hipness — that causes people to not believe I am almost 40. Also, my kill list has new members!

I'm tired, a little hungover, sore from exercising and completely unable to work my facial muscles in anything but a comic frown.

Meh.

DMV and Welfare: I Got Your Fix!

2007-10-08T15:37:00.000-06:00

Going to the DMV is always a dicey proposition: Will it take 2 hours? 5 hours? Do I have all the right supporting documents, DNA samples, and a note from my mother? The DMV in any state is an inefficient, depressing office teeming with angry people and it needn't be like that.

Here is how you improve the experience for everyone concerned:

1. Greeter This person sorts out your purpose at the DMV, gives you a number and checks your documents. This gate-keeper will also inform all visitors that only the person doing business with the DMV (plus one adult for minors)may enter the building. This way, no screaming children, whole families or posses will use up the available seating or annoy you to point of mass murder.

BENEFIT: Peace and quiet, increased efficiency, less toll on DMV employees and less aggravation for visitors.

2. ID THEFT/ILLEGAL IDS: Currently, in the State of Colorado, you must present proof of citizenship, proof of identity, pass a cursory criminal background check, and submit your fingerprint. Police and an increasing number of nightclubs have handheld scanners that suss out fake IDs, no matter how sophisticated the fake holograms and bar codes. Lots of security and law enforcement professionals are on the job, hunting down identity thieves and prosecuting them. So the DMV can lay off regular DMV customers who just need to renew their license. Really, you think I'm spending half a day in the 5th circle of Hell to try an get a fake ID? DMV clerks need only check the documents, enter the information in the computer, and process the license. Leave the detective work to people in that job!

BENEFIT: Faster turnaround when your number is called.

3. MAILING IDs: This is the MOST boneheaded thing of all. You visit the DMV, go through all of that nonsense, and leave with a piece of paper. Within 7-11 days you'll receive your license in the mail, they tell you. Why? So it can once again be verified that you are not some thieving illegal alien or one of those computer nerds who design viruses and do identity theft for kicks. I happen to think it is wasteful, stupid and massively inconvenient. Also, someone looking to co-opt my identity, who was actually clever (unlike the girl who did fake being me), would be smart to go through my mail and look for official-looking envelopes, eh? DMV, just print the goofy-looking license on the spot and let us get on our way.

BENEFIT: Less stress, less wasted time

Now, there are a lot of myths surrounding welfare in the U.S. Illegal aliens! Meth Addicted moms! Lazy people! Thieves and scumbags! Let's face it: Those segments of our population exist in lots of other places, too. Health and Human Services is the new name for the Welfare Office, by the way. But I'm no cheerleader for HHS, and I'm not the one to dispel myths about Welfare.

But you know what? HHS offices are inefficient! Never mind why I was there, but let me tell you something: it was like no one told me it was Opposite Day. Faster than the DMV, but way more retarded. Three "counselors" after my initial query, I sat before an agitated man who I'm pretty sure took an instant dislike to yours truly.

Although I'd signed sworn and witnessed statements on several forms, he asked me again if I was a citizen of the U.S. Then — without consulting a manual or his computer screen, or so much as glancing at my forms —he informed me that if I made more than $280/month income I would not qualify for the help I was looking for.

Um, that's my beer budget, dude! Seriously, though, $280? No wonder parents get a divorce so they can qualify for benefits for their handicapped children. No wonder people don't work and spend their days cooking meth and having babies.

HHS is trying to combat waste and fraud, which, nationwide, costs billions. Their efforts have resulted in only those people trying to defraud the government can qualify for assistance. Neat! Well done, fart knockers!

Here's my solution:

Medicare: Healthcare costs in this country are staggering. But it isn't the people who need Medicare costing the government, it is the Healthcare Industry ratcheting up the costs. Stop punishing recipients and their doctors to recoup losses from fraud and waste. Hire HMO CEOs to turn things around financially and sic activists on the CEOs ass to keep him honest.

Food Stamps and Cash Assistance: Actually, these programs have vastly improved over the years, offering a debit card that can be used at any grocery store or ATM. This cuts back on people selling their food stamps, using them to buy things other than food, and on the stigma of "food stamps". Compared to what people who aren't on assistance spend on groceries and stuff, it is a pittance. But for people who otherwise can't afford food, it means everything. My only addition would be an extra benefit for people who attend nutrition classes.

Jobs: For many people, their circumstances declined to such a degree that they required public assistance. The problem occurs when those circumstances improve: Say Dude got injured and lost his construction job, and has a pregnant wife and an infant son. He has no medical insurance, so he applies for and gets Medicare, allowing him to get physical therapy for his injury. He gets cash and food assistance for his family because his money ran out quickly. Now that he's healed and ready to go back to work, he's faced with a dilemma: his wife is getting great prenatal care and the boy gets immunizations and stuff through Medicaid, and he can't afford medical insurance even when he's working. He will lose his benefits when he starts working.

HHS already offers and encourages job training to all recipients, they want assistance to be as temporary arrangement as possible. Ok, but offer a COBRA-style coverage to recipients who do manage to go to work, and for people who are on semi-permanent assistance, such as the poor parents of handicapped children, make accommodations for qualification so that parents are not divorcing to help their children.

Babies: Yes, the poorer you are and the more babies you have — especially if you are unmarried — the higher your benefit. Duh, those women need more assistance. But to discourage people from having additional children to get more assistance, offer a higher benefit for not having more children while on assistance. No one wants to venture into eugenics, here, it's about money and getting OFF assistance.

I feel better now, don't you? Just to reiterate, I don't work for any government agency, nor do I receive public assistance. I'm just a crank!

Pout for Me Baby, C'mon, Work It.

2007-10-01T11:24:00.000-06:00

1. Not only did my beloved Philadelphia Eagles lose to the meathead Giants, McNabb was sacked a record 20 times. Painful.

2. I've been trying to work my way into Jalopnik for more than a year — they REALLY need some estrogen up in that bitch — and now they've hired some chick with less experience than me but younger. And she's probably slobbing some knobs over there, but maybe I'm just motherfucking bitter! [UPDATE: Said strumpet is overstating her professional experience just a scoonch! Good thing no one reads my stupid blog or I might hurt feelings or something.]

3. Another person said I look like Tina Fey. I look nothing like Tina Fey. Tina=brunette, brown eyes, thin, proportioned frame. Trouble=redhead, blue eyes, huge tits and chicken legs. We do, however, wear the same kind of glasses.

On the upside! I'm going to Las Vegas for Halloween (SEMA auto show) and I got a fabulous new haircut. The best damn stylist in Denver cut 10" of hair off my head and shaped it into something he described as, "less hippy chick". That's a relief.

I look a little like the photo above.

ABBA: The Tour

2007-09-28T10:33:00.000-06:00

More Awesome

First of all, seeing any concert at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Colorado is pleasing to the soul. Although a wee chilly last night, the view did not disappoint. Neither did ARRIVAL, the world's foremost ABBA tribute band.

They are Swedish (er, I guess the Ana-Frida clone is actually Norwegian), they are admitted ABBA obsessives and they can absolutely sing the hell out of those catchy tunes ("Winner Takes it All" was my favorite"). The costumes, the dancing, the singing, even the between-song patter was authentic '70s Swedish supergroup awesomeness.

The amphitheater was nearly at capacity — people had to resort to sitting on the steps or perching on the railings — and every last one of the mofos were on their feet, dancing, singing and otherwise going berserk. Lots of little kids were there, enjoying being out way after bedtime, but I didn't see as many people in drag as I'd hoped. Oh, well.

My BFF Jaymie was my date for the evening, the tickets a birthday present for her. We recalled our prior (as in early '80s) trips to Red Rocks (bodha bags, everclear punch, shitty jam bands, stomach pumps) not so fondly and toasted with our water bottles to a much-improved Red Rocks experience. Not that we approve of taking it too far from cool, as when some 50-year old man torched up a doob, all 50 people sitting around him turned and shot him the stinkeye. He put it out.

I'm getting old. I hate, hate, hate live music concerts. I am easily enraged by the lemming-like behavior of crowds of people. I think tribute bands are a joke. I no longer drink enough at one sitting to enjoy an event secondary to being bombed and acting like a complete retard. In general, I'm unpleasant to be around.

I fucking loved ABBA: The Tour and will cherish the memory of that concert. People at my fave karaoke bar are on notice: it's gonna be all ABBA, all the time for a long time.

I Heart the Gays!

2007-09-28T01:36:00.000-06:00

And this is why:

America's Oldest and the World's Greatest Beer

2007-09-27T15:49:00.000-06:00

I won't tell you where I got it, since Yuengling Lager is impossible to purchase anywhere west of the Mississippi and it is essential I keep the supply chain open.

Anyway. You there on the East Coast can enjoy it wherever and whenever you want to, so what are you waiting for? Don't like beer? Trust me: you will like this one.

Plus, it's been a family-run business since its inception in 1829 and their products have always maintained the highest standards in quality (even when they were producers of ice cream during Prohibition). In contrast, the Coors family are a bunch of double-dealing Nazi sympathizers who hide shoddy product and bad politics under wholesome advertising promises. Bah!

Not to mention that Coors brewing has never produced a worthwhile beer.

Enough ranting! I have Lager to imbibe. Suckers!

Soul-killing Unfunny Comedians

2007-09-21T12:42:00.000-06:00

(this is by no means an exhaustive list)

Sarah Silverman (and her boyfriend, Jimmy Kimmel): They are what I like to call "Disgruntled Bullies". You know, the kid who humiliated other kids in a wrong-headed effort to assuage their own self-loathing. It wasn't funny in 5th grade, either.

Dane Cook, Johnny Knoxville, Steve-O, etc., otherwise known as the "How Gross Can I Get and Still Keep 'Em Laughing" kids. Again, barely funny in grade school. I knew a guy who could be Dane Cook's brother in high school. Spooky-same-person, you know what I mean? Anyway, this guy destroyed every last one of his brain cells other than those required for blinking, farting, cracking stupid jokes and hitting on girls out of his league, by constantly smoking pot. I bet if that Dude cut back on the weed and worked on his jokes he could be Dane Cook.

Bill Maher. Seriously, how did this person &mdash utterly devoid of talent or charm &mdash become so successful as a comedian? He's like Ann Coulter with a smaller dick. There are so many of these worthless comedians out there, who tell jokes like they haven't been laid in years and are suffering the worse case of constipation with hemorrhoids you can imagine. Bloated, cranky, depressed insomniacs with a shed full of axes to grind are not funny people.

Mr. Maher was behind me in line at one of those "bottle service" clubs I heart so much (ri-i-i-i-ight), back in the early '90s. He is my height, possibly shorter. I am but a wee girl. He had on makeup, my friends, which did nothing to improve his acne-scarred and hopelessly fugly face. He whined to his friend to go tell the bouncer who he was, so he could get out of the "loser line" at this "moronic club". I gave my hair a saucy flip and smiled at him. He formulated some semblance of a smile on his face right back at me. I yelled to the bouncer, "Hey, Kevin, Cap'n Douchebag over here says he doesn't belong in this loser line at this moron's club. Can you help him out?"

It turned out that Kevin the Bouncer had never heard of Bill Maher. Maher's gruesome threesome left in a huff.

Comedy is a tough business. It's hard to believe these people made the cut at their first open stage. I mean, Carrot top?

Saturday Night Live

2007-09-18T09:38:00.001-06:00

What did you do last Saturday night? Did you attend a black-tie charity gala that featured an intimate live concert with Earth, Wind and Fire? No? I did.

Yes, it was awesome. This is how close to Philip Bailey we were when we boogied. I know! We are so lucky.

It sure was weird to be at a concert with 1500 extremely rich white people. One of the trophy wives tried to get up on stage and dance and was immediately (though gently) removed by security. I told Superfly it was like the Forbes prom. Har, har.

The BAND was, of course, insanely good. You just can't appreciate The Voice and all its many octaves until he is 5 feet away from you, trilling away. Mind boggling. And hello? Someone needs to bottle some of that energy Verdine White is cranking — he is a smiling, whirling dervish of happiness and talent.

I won't soon forget that night, I tell you. Pretty sure I've always been an E,W & T fan and have passed the love to my troublets. Their favorite is "Boogie Wonderland". What's yours?

One Way to Interest Women in Football

2007-09-16T16:15:00.000-06:00

Here's the girl's take on the $195 Chanel football

and

Here is the boy's.

Enjoy!

Personally, I won't care until it becomes available in Eagles green. And would it kill them to be-dazzle it a little?

I'm kidding.

Example B!

2007-09-13T16:53:00.001-06:00

I Like 'Em Looking Like They're One Bad Call Away From Being an Inpatient

2007-09-13T12:42:00.000-06:00

It's Charity Bikini Car Wash Time Again

2007-09-12T09:11:00.000-06:00

You see, Led Zeppelin is reuniting for a one-off show in London this November.

If I survived the concert I might be inclined to storm the gates of Top Gear and steal the Stig's job in broad daylight.

So brush off those be-dazzled American flag bikinis, girls, we gotta raise some funds!

Britney at the VMAs

2007-09-10T10:20:00.000-06:00

I actually had better things to do (read: watch football,drink beer and play NTN trivia)than watch some stupid MTV awards show. All over the interwebs this morning is vicious criticism of Britney Spears — one even has her on "suicide watch".

Watch the video on youtube or practically any website in existence and you'll see a bedraggled and plumper (though by no means as fat as she's being called by so many other pots and kettles) Britney, looking absolutely terrified and messing up her dancing and singing so badly it hurts to watch.

Poor kid, her life is spinning out of control and there doesn't appear to be anyone around her with a steadying influence. If Madonna could spare some time from adopting African orphans and doing whatever it is she does to make her arms look so spooky, she would be an excellent mentor for the poor Miss Spears. Exactly what the stale pop tart needs.

I can see it now: Madonna, taking Britney under her taut wing, putting the Cheetoh-lover on a macrobiotic diet and whipping her into shape in dance class and recording studio. Move Britney and her babies to London to give the girl a break from the paparazzi and Perez Hilton. Let her hair grow out — ditch the weaves. Take a cue from Rihanna and class up the outfits a little. If Kabbalah helps, fine, but get your head right, girl.

After a proper detox and style makeover, Britney ought to spend some time with the gays. STAY AWAY FROM THE CHAVS!

And then and only then can Britney stage a comeback.

Finally!

2007-09-05T15:39:00.000-06:00

...and just in time for Mercedes-Benz fashion week.

Almost exactly one year ago I pitched a story idea to my editor and set to work on what would end up being nearly five grueling months worth of research, interviews and writing. I talked with fashion editors, fashion designers, PR flacks, automotive designers, auto design students, auto experts and women car buyers and have the acres of transcripts, tapes, emails and questionnaires, endless re-writes, etc. to prove it — not that anyone cares.

I moved to Denver in-between the last fashion week and the New York Auto Show. My story was supposed to be published then, but I got into a big scrap with the editor over my byline. There is a strong chance that my story will be published with someone else's name on it. This is due to an internal policy wherein all work generated on premises by employees is property of the company and the Editor gets to do with it what he/she will.

I'm not mad at the Editor — he gets it from all sides and has to deal with shit from which I would run pell-mell away in the opposite direction. He has always been kind and fair to me and I have to assume something more important than me is forcing his hand. It's my fault for not getting everything in official writing before turning in my story, anyway.

There is also the chance that some half-wit slag in the video department will appear in an attached video. I was to tape a video for the original story with fashion designer Dana Buchman, but had to cancel our shoot day due to my breast biopsy. When I returned to the office, I learned that the aforementioned half-wit slag would be damned if any other girl would appear in a company video but her and refused to allow our use of the cameras, etc. Why a stalwart company like this would allow a 20-something dingbat to run an important media division is astounding and incredibly depressing. This is not my fault and the slag can burn in Hell.

(Aside: Ms. Buchman is absolutely splendid and her designs for Cadillac are divine, even if most of the interior details won't make it onto production models. Also, I love her Fall 2007 line, even though I'm more of an Old Navy kind of shopper.)

*Sigh* This is a lesson learned: trust no one in publishing, keep your ideas close to your vest, examine contracts thoroughly before turning in copy and above all, trust no one in publishing.

If my name ain't on it I'll be sad, but glad it finally got published — I think it's a hell of a good story.

:END WHINE:

Couldn't Have Said it Better Myself Dept.

2007-09-04T14:17:00.000-06:00

This young whippersnapper of a sports reporter has just published a revelatory piece on the unfair criticism of Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb.

Look at Michael Vick. Donovan McNabb is the anti-Michael Vick. Yet the clean-living, nice guy McNabb, who is one of the most successful Eagle ever, gets nothing but grief from fans and snarky comments from the idiot sports announcers. Oh, and Rush Limbaugh.

Sheesh.

Red Side of the Moon

2007-08-28T08:35:00.000-06:00

Wanna geek out on lunar eclipse? Here's the Wiki.

Wiccans celebrate the lunar eclipse as a coming together of the god (the sun) and the goddess (the moon). Bow chicka-bow-bow! Just how are we celebrating, eh? I'm kidding. Witches, too, recognize the lunar eclipse as a wonderful and magical time. I am happy to hear that, even if it looks foreboding, the lunar eclipse does not spell bad mojo for anyone.

Can you imagine how frightened early humans must have been to see the full moon turn blood red? I gobbled up a sleeping pill last night (insomnia) so I missed the damn eclipse. Good thing a whole bunch of science nerds stayed up to analyze and photograph it for me and you.

Karaoke Do Not Sings

2007-08-27T10:46:00.000-06:00

In case you missed it while wondering how Miss Teen South Carolina manages to function on a daily basis, this list arose like Venus on a half-shell from the clever mind of Dan Hopper at Best Week Ever:

Have you ever been at a karaoke bar, flipped through their phone book of songs to pick from, debated in your head if you wanted something awesome or ironic or awesomely ironic or whatever, then finally settled on a perfect choice, typed in the song, waited excitedly, finally gotten up on stage, then after about a minute, realized that the song is either impossible to sing, or goes on for a painful amount of time, or wasn’t nearly as funny as you had anticipated, or some devastating combination of the three? Who hasn’t? That’s why I’ve drawn on personal experience and the catastrophic anecdotal accounts of my fellow karaoke-loving friends to comprise this list of the Top Ten Worst Karaoke Trap Songs in the hopes that we can reduce these awkward, time-wasting experiences, one room of people rolling their eyes at a time.

10. Sir Mix-A-Lot - “Baby Got Back"

The concept of getting really drunk with one’s friends and shouting along out-of-tune to random pop songs is already so wonderfully ludicrous, I wonder why people feel the need to intentionally choose a pseudo-novelty song for the sake of humor, let alone one which everyone got tired of even on a nostalgic level after about three weeks of college. That never stops the one nerd in your group from trying to impress everyone in the room by singing all of “Baby Got Back” without looking at the words on the screen, as though anyone even cares about the song beyond the first minute, chiming in for the obligatory “My anaconda don’t want none” part then eagerly anticipating the song’s end.

9. Frank Sinatra - “New York, New York"

Part of the glee of karaoke comes from drunken people singing the most random, stupid song that they secretly love and having those couple stunned people in the crowd who also secretly love that song rising up and triumphantly belting along with the person holding the mic. Why is it, then, that so many people feel compelled to bore the room with “New York, New York,” a perennially anticlimatic choice which is at best sung perfectly, garnering a dull “hmm, that guy was really good,” reaction, and at worst a “are these Sinatra dudes going to be done soon? I’ve been waiting a damn hour to sing ‘Santeria’.”

8. INXS - “Need You Tonight"

This 80s pop gem can be a tempting choice, but there’s something magically elusive about Michael Hutchence’s voice; it’s too low for high singers, it’s two high for low singers, and if you’re in the middle, it’s impossible to sing, you pretty much just have to speak the words, which ends up being just kind of boring. It’s only two minutes long, mercifully, but the angsty sex noises require a degree of acting that’ll make any non-hammered individual look like a pervert, and any appropriately hammered individual look like a drunken pervert. I can imagine how singing this song in concert over and over again would lead a singer to… never mind.

7. Meat Loaf - “Paradise By The Dashboard Light"

Another tempting option, cause there aren’t really a lot of great duets once “Don’t You Want Me Baby” and “Another Day” from Rent get sung in the first hour, but this song folds under two massive flaws: One, only the last part of the song is a duet, the male part takes up about the first 70%, and Two, it is the longest goddamn song in the history of recorded music. There isn’t even a single version; even the karaoke rendition will include the full two minutes of Phil Rizzuto’s baseball announcing. If you’re paying for a room and you select this song, you’re a moron who instantly owes everyone in the bar five rounds of drinks.

6. Journey - “Don’t Stop Believin’"

Don’t get me wrong, this song is absolutely tailor-made for sing-alongs, but, in a way, it’s almost too good; everyone in the room, from nineteen-year-old sorority chicks to even the most jaded hipsters will dive into the choruses, and the final breakdown will be an absolutely cathartic group scream that will end in huge applause when the song fades out. BUT — if this isn’t the last song of the night, it pretty much ruins every single song that follows it, and can clear a bar as quickly as the Sopranos finale cut to black. You might as well just go onstage after The Beastie Boys just did a two-hour set with Jerry Lee Lewis.

5. Anything from the “Grease” Soundtrack

Short of that one girl who keeps picking country ballads that no one in the room knows, there is no more polarizing force in the world of karaoke than the girls who put on songs from “Grease,” resulting in an inevitable three minutes of loud girly sing-alongs and insecure dudes yelling at them to change the song or to pick something less done-to-death (like “Livin’ on a Prayer”). You could go onstage, grab the mic, and start preaching about how Roe v Wade needs to be overturned, and you’d start fewer arguments than if you sang “You’re The One That I Want,” so you really have to ask yourself if your few minutes of happy falsetto-ey '50s music is worth a roomful of tangible animosity.

2. Prince - “Purple Rain"

The stacked catalogue and mass appeal of almighty Prince often blinds people to his disatrous karaoke potential; songs like “Little Red Corvette” and “1999″ are perfect for dance parties, but never quite hold up on the karaoke stage (perhaps because we have certain predispositions about that Prince fellow’s stage presence), but “Purple Rain” is an absolute, no-exceptions room-killer. No matter how seemingly hilarious a song suggestion is, or how many girls clump themselves around a microphone to shout a chorus, no karaoke song really holds up past the four-minute-mark, and this one goes on long enough for patrons to take a cab to a different karaoke bar, type in a song, and get on stage quicker than if they’d waited for this one to be over.

3. U2 - “One”

When you choose to sing Pearl Jam or Dave Matthews, you pretty much know beforehand that you’re going to have to do a flat-out impression of the lead singer. With “One,” though, you can’t really slip into full-on Bono impression without sounding like a crappy Mad TV sketch, nor can you sing the song in your own voice without sounding like an Idol reject who was bad but not in a unique or amusing way. You’ll be stuck in a perpetual state of partial-Bono impression that won’t sound like anything, will damage your vocal chords, and really begin to grate on people long before you come to the excruciating two minutes of “oooohhh ooohhhh!! haaaaaaaa!” at the end.

2. Guns n’ Roses - “Paradise City”

A flawless, across-the-board example of a textbook karaoke trap. It seems like a viable option, because everyone can get into G’n'R, plus the chorus is fun and easy for everyone to sing along to, but even the chorus gets pretty old by about the fourth repetition (out of thirty), to say nothing of the superfast verses which no one knows, the five instrumental breaks, and the total running time of nearly seven minutes, making for a crushing, “dear god, what have I done?” epiphany for the unfortunate soul who’s left bearing the microphone like a scarlet letter.

1. Vanilla Ice - “Ice Ice Baby”

Remember Vanilla Ice? I do! He had that stupid song when we were little that became awesome again when we went to college and now we’re going to sing it! Isn’t that ridiculous? Who wants to be part of this never-before-attempted stab at hilarity? Ok, here we go! Stop, collaborate and listen, Ice is back with my brand new invention, something, that… dah da dah…. ummm speaker that booms… “poisonous mushroom”? What? I’ve never seen any of these words before. Anyone? Dear god, get to the chorus, quick… Ice Ice Baby! [stands there awkwardly.] Ice Ice Baby. [five more awkward seconds, then the second verse starts, and people are either talking to one another or just reading the lyrics in disbelief. This continues for about seven more verses until someone finally skips to the next song. Person who was about to type in “U Can’t Touch This” reconsiders his options.]

The Name's K-Money

2007-08-25T14:51:00.001-06:00

He sings the crap out of "Creep" but he's far from one.

K-Money had the thankless job of working with me at a chain restaurant. We bonded over a mutual hate of ketchup and grew to be good friends through karaoke at the Ho. Oh, that's the Tally Ho, my hometown historic gay bar. Neither of us are gay but lots of our friends are and we both loved the resident karaoke DJ.

He toils all day at some suit-and-tie job that he's way too smart for, and tolerates the bizarre, irresponsible, rude and sometimes tragic behavior of all his friends with some kind of zen magic. I worry he'll snap and throttle some unsuspecting diner waitress who absentmindedly hands him a plate covered in ketchup.

Yes, it's Trouble-is-Sentimental Week. Suck it up!

The Key to Solving Jewish-Muslim Conflict: Karaoke!

2007-08-25T14:37:00.001-06:00

Here's me and my German/Bosnian and proudly Muslim friend Alem, solving Mid-East conflict via karaoke duet. Through karaoke we became friends and found very little to fight about (except who does all the driving on trips to Atlantic City).

I believe the song was "Something Stupid" by Frank and Nancy Sinatra. The setting was Bob's basement during a late-winter blizzard. It was actually something of a miracle Alem arrived safely for my farewell party — I'm awfully glad he did.

Sure do miss him! You ought to hear Alem tear up "Du Hast" in the original German. It's been known to send people fleeing up the stairs of the Lodge. It is the awesome.

For Your Entertainment, While I Disassemble a Mighty Bedroom Fort

2007-08-24T15:18:00.000-06:00

This is Bob. Bob is my friend and I love him very much. He's one helluva singer, which you may or may not be able to discern from this video. Bob was astonishingly drunk at the time, didn't know the song as well as some of those in attendance at the Lodge, yet sang better than anyone of us ever could.

Bob lives in Lancaster and is the star of many a local playhouse musical. In fact, he is in rehearsals right now for Little Shop of Horrors, playing Seymour. He and K-Money and Lore and our other karaoke friends go out without me, drink Lager that I can't get here in Denver, and hells bells do I miss them. And Lager. And the Lodge.

Mood: Wistful Demon Space Pirate

7 People, Picked to Share an Apartment...

2007-08-18T11:30:00.000-06:00

No 20-year old skank doofuses here, though: Me, the Superfly, Nana and all four of the Trouble litter are sharing our 2-br swanky apartment in the sky-hi-i. And loving every minute of it!

So while we revel in familial happiness, I will not be posting much or spending much time online at all, actually. You see, there's this site called Club Penguin that's a sort-of chatroom nightmare for the elementary school set. I don't worry much; it's monitored by strident nanny goats and kids are ejected for saying, "poop".

In other news, E-A-G-L-E-S !!!!! Suck on that, Carolina Panthers!

Have a lovely, sunny, enjoyable end of summer, everyone. LYLAS!

Mood: Demon Space Pirate

2007-08-13T12:52:00.000-06:00

Not For the Squeamish

2007-08-08T10:42:00.000-06:00

Much ado around Gawker these days about, well, back-door action. People stridently pro and con and a whole lot of bullshit being presented as fact.

I am personally in the con camp. My actual experience with the practice is limited to the few boyfriends I've had who timidly inquired if I maybe wanted to try, blah blah, and were immediately sent packing. Er, I mean I dumped them. Um, we broke up. Heh. I have friends and know other women who swear that it's the best thing ever. Of course, those people are either sex workers or garden-variety sluts. Shocking!

My theory (I'm full of them! For any occasion!) is that when girls and women started emulating strippers, porn stars and prostitutes in clothing, waxing, tanning, pole dancing and sex tapes, the natural step was to one-up the porn actresses in the bedroom.

Sure, anal sex has been around since people have been around. And believe me, I've heard every lame excuse and rationality for why guys want it and girls will do it.

Why are some people just crazy for anal sex?

Is it because the guy is in denial about being gay? Maybe.
Is it because the girl has "let herself go" down there? If so, get a new lover who isn't a shallow, misogynistic bastard who is in denial about being gay.
Is it because it's natural? Wrong! That is an exit, people.
Is it because it's safe and painless if "done right"? You Wish!
Is it because the guy/girl is constantly looking for new and interesting ways to get off? Probably. Maybe they should pursue a different hobby.

Ok, so this theory holds that guys who are into anal sex are shallow, capricious and probably gay. And on the girls who claim they can't get no satisfaction any other way, I call total, utter bullshit.

Some girls want to be the girl all the guys want. You know her: she's sexy and flirty and every woman's frenemy. She thinks that if she figures out what guys like and becomes that thing, she wins. If none of the other women will demean themselves, risk their body's good health and proper functioning, and fulfill their jerkoff boyfriend's vile fantasy, she will! She wins! Yay, Slut!

When I had sex talks with my smart, beautiful daughter, I always stressed this: "Any man who asks you to have anal sex with him has absolutely no regard for your safety or happiness. He doesn't love you."

Why? Because it's true. Because she grew up in a world where people are celebrated for their disgusting behavior and where women allow themselves to believe that looking like a low-rent stripper is the height of fashion. And a world wherein a dangerous perversion like anal sex is promoted as a normal, fun sex practice. What's next, donkeys?

Come on, people. Leave the nasty stuff for the prostitutes and porn stars. That's what they're for! If your partner is bugging you to do it, find a new partner. It's high time someone said enough. Bring back shunning! Bring back shame!

With apologies to anyone horrified by this post. You're right to be horrified, so am I. I just had to get this off my chest. If I posted it as a Gawker comment I would surely be flamed by buggers, and really, who needs it?

If You Ain't Bipolar, You Ain't Trying Hard Enough

2007-08-03T10:55:00.000-06:00

Interweb scuttlebutt has diagnosed Britney Spears as being Bipolar. Clues cited include Ms. Spears shaving her head, waving her genitals at photographers, and generally losing her shit every chance she gets. Apparently, the poor kid isn't treated for this psychiatric disorder because she's busily working out another one: Bulimia.

Diagnosing Bipolar disorder is an inexact science, as any reputable psychiatrist will tell you. There is no blood test, no rash, no Xray image of throbbing craziness. Instead, doctors look at patterns of behavior in deciding if it's Bipolar, Depresssion, some combo thereof, or other mood or personality disorders.

Substance Abuse and acting like a batshit whorebag asshole are not precise symptoms of Bipolar Disorder. If that were true, a lot more than 2% of the population would be officially diagnosed.

It's entirely possible that Britney is Bipolar. It's equally possible that Lindsay Lohan is Bipolar. In fact, I would put my money on Lindz: she has the inappropriate sexuality thing happening, the substance abuse, the erratic behavior, the total lapses in judgement, and — tellingly, I say — the terrible rages. Where Britney is a sadsack, insecure cuckoobunny, Lindsay Lohan is a megalomanic, friend- and family-alienating nightmare.

Now throw Amy Winehouse into the mix. The Wino was officially diagnosed and — in all her clear-thinking sobriety — decided she didn't need medication and therapy.

I'm no spokesperson for Bipolar Disorder, or bipolar women, or celebrities, or anyone at all, I just don't want the world to associate the disorder with these skeevy trainwrecks. Amy Winehouse is not the fucking "face" of Bipolar Disorder, ok?

I have a diagnosis of severe Bipolar Disorder. I have suffered from the terrifying symptoms (which, for me, did not include waving my genitals or wrecking expensive cars in DUI stupidity)since I was a teenager. It's bad enough to encounter doctors who treat me like I have Down's Syndrome or Autism when I visit them for ordinary medical problems. Nurses often freak out when I tell them I take Lithium. Know what Lithium is? A common mineral, like table salt.

So, I'm not looking forward to the surely-upcoming news pieces about Bipolar, featuring Jimmy-Crack-Crackers Spears. Seriously, people, having Bipolar Disorder is sucky enough. Must we be lumped in with celebrity whoreflowers?

Last time I checked, acting like a thai hooker at dance clubs, drinking yourself half-to-death, and experimenting with drugs was a disorder called College. I guess every person in their early-to-mid '20s has bipolar, in addition to being worthless and stupid. How sad!

Guilty Pleasures - Awesomely Crappy Songs

2007-08-03T10:21:00.000-06:00

Were you to swipe my Ipod and scroll through my music downloads (clearly to steal, you rat bastard) you will find: a lot of cool songs, some killer rarities (Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot, anyone?), plenty of disco, and a handful of absolute head-scratchers. ("Climax Blues Band? Really?")

The many goofy, cheesy, almost-all-of-the-'70s songs sandwiched between Wolfmother and Hawaiian love songs are not there because I am a fashionably-ironic hipster. No, no. The only thing I have in common with those useless wastes of carbon is species.

I truly, whole-heartedly love these songs. They evoke, for example, innocent afternoons of listening to AM radio and working on a rocket pop. They transport me, through time and space, to summers spent playing Charlie's Angels and writing love letters to Starsky. Farrah was married to the $6 Million Man and all was right with the world. The soundtrack to that time celebrates wholesomeness, as in Debbie Boone and the Carpenters, and raunchiness I only pretended to understand, from P-Funk and Foxy. We had Muskrat Love and we had Love to Love You, Baby.

But there's nothing better than a cheesy '70's ballad, as sung by some skinny, long-haired, sweet-mustached guy in shiny pants and a puffy shirt. I am telling you.

Of these songs -- many of which were criminally left off VH1's "Softsational Soft Rock Whatever" -- the greatest, most awesomely crappy song that holds a special place of honor in my Ipod is a little number by Jay Ferguson called "Thunder Island".

Sha-la-la-la-la-la, m'lady indeed!

Thunder Island (LP Version) by Jay Ferguson

To Snark and to be Loved by Me

2007-08-01T16:39:00.000-06:00

Ah, my fellow Gawker commenters. So terribly smart and armed-to-the-teeth with obscure references and puns for any occasion.

With wit, charm and no small amount of schadenfreude, the men and women chosen to weigh-in on posts at Gawker's sites with unbalanced opinions, straight-up rants, in-fighting and bon mots oneupmanship are usually more entertaining than the post to which they refer.

Editors regularly single out commenters for praise or, more often, execution. For the year I've been throwing in my .02 I've found Gawker's decisions to be mostly apt. I was once executed (for suggesting post topic quotas existed at Gawker HQ) and invited to "eat a dick". Superfly boyfriend was delighted to hear it!

I pleaded and whined until they reluctantly let me back in to the super secret treehouse club. I've kept my nose clean and focused my comments to topics I actually know something about. Chances are I'll never check in to the Gold Star Motel — unless completely by accident — but it's personally rewarding to do more than sneer, laugh, or gasp at the laptop screen. Sharing is, after all, caring, nu?

So when you visit a Gawker site, read the comments. You'll find some of the funniest, most entertaining, and occasionally perplexing witticisms that exist online. The next time an open invitation to become a commenter comes along, consider joining in the frayed fun.

Unrelated: How is it possible I have 20+ mosquito bites and haven't died of some tropical disease yet? Not only do I live next to a wildlife preserve where plague exists amongst the woodland creatures therein but dadgum West Nile Virus is a-poppin'!

Amusing story related to the unrelated bit: A guy in line behind me at the grocery checkout tapped me on the shoulder and helpfully instructed me to make a paste of meat tenderizer and MSG (Lawry's Seasoned Salt was his recommendation) and rub it on my itchy, red welts. "The MSG kills the poison" he soberly said.

I definitely prefer the advice of random strangers in Colorado than that of the clearly barking loony mad ones in Brooklyn.

MUPPET DISCO

2007-07-23T14:25:00.000-06:00

Escort's Muppet-rific video for "All Through the Night"

With apologies to LB, who has a pathological aversion to blog videos. And to anyone who's already seen this 10 billion times.

This Friday, I'm taking my BFF Jaymie to "ABBA - The Tour" for a much-needed disco cheer-up at the famous Red Rock Amphitheater.

If you are someone who loves disco, it's time to get excited: Another disco revival is on its way. Personally, I couldn't be more thrilled.

The group responsible for the video here is Escort, a trio of Brooklyn musicians who seek to bring back the pure (read: no samples) songwriting and music of the days of Disco. Right on, Jack!

If The Three-Toed Sloth be reading, girl, there's someone out there compiling Shalamar reviews. Also, a video you oughta see.

I done went to a party!

2007-07-21T14:36:00.000-06:00

Caught mid-mock

Perfectly normal, nice people with stupefyingly boring jobs, getting their pretense on for a networking event. My head was about to explode with all the snarky, mean, totally inappropriate things I felt like saying.

Which is why me, the papparazzi-Superfly, and an unending pint of Guinness, sat way in the back, dark corner.

And yes, jerks, I know I'm all shiny. Everyone in that place was schvitzing like whores in church. And I'm all hunched over because the wooden benches there were sending spikes of pain up my spine as I sat upon them.

WOT on WSOPC

2007-07-19T18:54:00.001-06:00

Ok, so I'm still mad at my teammates for taking their slow-ass time to complete and return our registration for the World Series of Pop Culture. If not for Bobulah and K-Money, my hot ass would be on your TV, owning this competition!

I'm owning it from the sofa. The teams I liked are out of the competition at the Semi-Final level. The team I absolutely hate, Twisted Misters, are improbably plugging along, making snide ageist comments and acting all ridiculously arrogant, seeing how they are all three complete tools. I have a sneaking suspicion they're cheating somehow.

If they actually win this year I will take extreme pleasure in knocking them back down to peanut size next year.

Hey, Twisted Misters? Be sure to use that $250,000 for zit cream, Lasik, and hookers! Someday you'll be men.

Crush

2007-07-18T10:17:00.000-06:00

Da Do Run Run, Indeed!

According to wiki, my third-ranking schoolgirl crush (after Gene Wilder and Starsky) is a thrice-married father of a gaggle of kids, a successful Hollywood producer, and an extremely competent bowler.

I can't find a recent photo of him online, but weren't he hunky back a-then?

Boo!

2007-07-17T15:39:00.000-06:00

I don't believe in ghosts for a pretty simple reason: When I started taking medication for my bipolar disorder, the hallucinations I'd had since childhood (which I never knew were hallucinations, of course) stopped. Just like that. The sights, sounds and feelings people typically associate with hauntings (seeing and hearing things, extrasensory blah-blah) were absolutely normal occurrences for me, pre-Lithium.

Also, paranormal and demonology studies all seem to hinge on faith. The truer your faith in good spirits, the better off you'll be fighting the bad ones. Skeptics and Clerics alike agree that sometimes people need to see "good magic", in the form of exorcism (or any manner of folk medicine beat-it-bad-spirit ceremonies) in order to end the paranormal activity. It's a win-win: the subject chills the fuck out and the subject has newly-invigorated faith which gets them back in church.

I'm Jewish and don't believe in angels, ghosts, demons, magic, Tinkerbell or Santa Claus. Although I will concede that we humans have puny brains that likely cannot fathom the nature of a supernatural being, so I'm open to being proved wrong.

That said, I absolutely do believe in Hell and I do believe in Evil. I just happen to think both exist in the here and now — It won't take you but a moment to come up with very real examples of both. How it usually ends is by killing the evil person or people responsible for the abuse, torture, killing, murder, genocide, etc. Like excising a cancer. They are human beings that we recognize and understand and we know how to defeat them.

Are we serious in thinking that waving a crucifix around and mumbling at a supernatural being who boasts incredible skills like invisibility and telekinesis is going to be effective? Can you tell I have suspension-of-disbelief problems?

If I were to become a ghost when I die, instead of being zapped into universal energy, I think I would do something other than throw plates around some Catholic family's house. Perhaps stupid people become stupid ghosts? Anyway, I would do my best to protect my family in perpetuity, "guardian angel"-style. How about you?

Sidebar: People in the business of fighting ghosts, demons, or bad spirits will tell you that the evil in question draws strength from your fear and from the attention you pay it.

You know what? The same holds true for people in the news. The more we crack jokes and trade gossip about the celebs/trainwrecks/whomever, the higher their dirty, evil stars rise. So from now on, I won't mention a single festering butt sore of an interweb entertainment celebrity, under any circumstance. I urge you to do the same.

Together, with a little faith, we can defeat them!

My ghost story:

I moved into a rental house where the previous owner had died. Seems the secretly-alcoholic housewife went on a bender, fell down the steep basement steps and hit her head against the wall, knocking her unconscious. No one was there to help her and she died. The elderly neighbor who told me the tragic story warned me the house was haunted by the poor woman.

I didn't repeat the story, because I am not a superstitious person. I had zero weird or creepy experiences in that house, outside of dealing with my then-husband.

My friend Arturo came over for a dinner party one winter night. Arturo is half-Mexican, half-Navajo and all-superstitious. When he arrived, he was smiling, handed me a bottle of Cazadores Reposado (my fave), and stepped into the house with his girlfriend. He barely got past the guest bathroom before freezing in place. His girlfriend covered her mouth with her hands. I caught up to him and touched his arm. This man, all 250 lbs of solid beat-you-down muscle, was trembling. He looked like he saw a ...

Arturo and his girlfriend fled the party and he vowed not to return to my house until I promised to let him burn some sage. I needed his help on my 'zine, so I told him to ignite my whole Dean and Deluca spice rack, if he wanted. Not funny, I was told. But really, once that ceremony was over he never mentioned the ghost and spent many long nights working in the basement, a yard away from where the poor woman met her demise.

Got a ghost story?

Hot Fun in the Summertime

2007-07-10T13:19:00.000-06:00

I Heart Karaoke!

Have you booked your trip to Denver yet? I'm telling you, everyone that visited us from the East Coast recently is busily looking for jobs here to facilitate their relocation.

Best of all, Trouble Jr. ditched her plan to go to the culinary school in Philly to return to the Mile-High city for her higher education. Trouble Jr. and the Troublets all together, here with me? Shit yes!

What is the draw? Not the nightlife or sports teams, that's for sure. It's dream real estate for any kind of outdoor activity you can imagine; the weather is an awesome improvement on sweltering humidity and winter sleet; everything is MUCH cheaper; it's everything-friendly and hipsters are scarce.

The media scene here is like a TV reenactment of all the scare stories in the national media about layoffs, downsizing and the death of print media. I meet A LOT of freelancers/consultants, let's say. So, naturally, I am cooking up a scheme to improve the scene for everyone here.

I am an entrepreneur, you see, and I'm not happy unless I'm cooking up schemes. One day, an idea of mine will actually pan out. Promise.

Mostly, though, I am babying my poor broken back and trying to lose weight through sheer willpower. I start PT tommorrow and you know what that means — free massage!

Our guestroom and the wonders of Denver, Colorado await you!