By Beauty Damned

Wait for Meee!!! I'm Right Behind You...

In terms of blogging, I feel like the tortoise in a world full of hares. Don't worry, I'll catch up guys! I'sa comin'... just trying to gather my thoughts here...

I don't know at what point life began to feel intensely overwhelming to me, but it has shifted to that and I'm not crazy about it. I find that I'm constantly chastizing myself for all the ways in which I'm behind on absolutely everything. And it's not just an illusion either. It's real. I am behind on everything. The worst part is that it's stuff that matters. Not stuff I really want to delineate here specifically, as it is mostly personal affairs, but you know, business to take care of and essays and blog entries to write and household chores to tackle and bills looming and all kinds of crap. There's lots of business and not enough time in the day. The worst is that when you start to feel that way, you begin to defeat your own purpose. It's best to stay calm, take life one task at a time...deep breath...aaarghhh. I'm flailing.

I know I've written before about the anxiety I feel regarding the rapid passing of time. It gets away. Years pass. Things are still left undone. You start having reccurring dreams where none of the doors will close and something is always chasing you. (Don't have to be a fortune teller to read the symbolism in that.) You kick yourself again and again for not taking care of those things that are hanging over you, burdening your life and your conscience. This is the mantra of the procrastinator. The strange part is that I don't normally procrastinate about small things. It's the big things that I allow to fall at the wayside, only then they go on to haunt me for weeks and months and sometimes even years into the future.

I've got a lot on my mind. Can you tell?

I just finished reading a really good book that my dad mailed to me, called "Latina Self-Portraits." It is a compilation of interviews with Latina American writers: Julia Alvarez, Denise Chavez, Sandra Cisneros, Rosario Ferre, Cristina Garcia, Nicholasa Mohr, Cherrie Moraga, Judith Ortiz Cofer, Esmeralda Santiago and Helena Maria Viramontes. All of these women spoke so loud and clear to me from the page as I read their interviews that it was kind of amazing. I didn't expect to feel the way I felt about it. I didn't expect to identify with those women so much. But I did. Again and again I thought, "wow. This all makes so much sense to me." About writing. It made me think a lot about why I do it. Why I love writing. What I want to get out of it. It became more clear to me than ever while reading that book that not only do I have a lot to do before I will be ready to make a career of writing, but that is really where my most heartfelt mode of self expression and art is at. In the writing. That was a fuckin cool book. I have no idea if the next person would get the same feeling of inspiration from it as I did, but I would definitely recommend it to any female artist regardless of specific interest, but especially to any woman born and raised in the United States and trying to connect with her hispanic culture and artists spirit. Reading the words and thoughts of these excellent women writers was totally empowering.

Work has been crazy.

Rob and I are leaving for Oregon for our big summer vacation early Friday afternoon, so there's plenty to do to get ready. I'm very excited. I can't describe how excited I am, so I won't bother trying. Just trust me when I say it's going to be fantastic to be in Oregon. And now for some advice from your very own super duper Legal Secretary: You always want to make sure to take care of any unfinished filing and clean your desk if you're going to be out of the office on vacation. You don't want to get fired while you're away when your bosses realize how much paper you have stashed in your filing box and how much shit you have in your desk. So that's what I've been doing at work. Cleaning shoes and paystubs and overdue library books out of my desk and lots of filing. Filing is to one's desk as dishes are to one's sink. They never go away. You wash them and there's always going to be more in about five minutes, maybe less. If you let them pile up too long, they start to stink and you can't find anything. So it must be done. Though I did ask my boss this week if we could strike the word "filing" from my job description altogether and have someone else do it. He just smiled with that perplexed look that says "what is 'filing' and why does it trouble you so?". And much the same way that if I get Rob to do the dishes, I am dissatisfied with the job that he does, If I get someone else to do the filing - as the hypercritical virgo that I'm so good at being - I'm bound to be irritated with their system. It's a no win situation. The moral of the story is that two of the most annoying things on this planet are filing and dishes. They go in the book next to all the other things that we have no choice about in this life.

This is why we have to have things to look forward to. Like VACATION. (One of my favorite words in the English language.)

Some Jerry Springer Shit

So much has happened recently in my life and in the rest of the world that I haven't even known where to begin.

I guess some of the most important news in my own life is that my cat Matilda (a/k/a "Tilly") has returned from a long hiatus. Actually, I should not say she returned on her own. I should say that I retrieved her from my neighbor who told me that if she ever found my cat she would call me immediately. Apparently, she was so anxious to keep Matilda once she got ahold of her that she'd already renamed my cat CeeCee by the time I came to reclaim her. This girl also told me an outrageous lie. She claimed that my boyfriend told her that if she found our cat, she could keep her. She told me this as if he had said it to her in a somewhat conspiratorial manner, a manner which I've never in nearly four years, seen him use. (Anyone who knows Rob knows that not only is he deeply bonded with Matilda, but that he would never in a thousand years tell anyone that they could keep our cat if they found her. He, of course, confirmed that her story was an absolute fabrication). I've concluded that the girl is completely untrustworthy and quite possibly demented. Thank god that her grandmother told me that they had my cat, or else I may never have gotten her back. Anyway, it's a sordid and disturbing tale. Have I already revealed how deeply the entire scenario bugged me? I guess I've let that cat out of the bag, no pun intended.

That is all pretty much irrelevant though, since we have our precious kitty back and I've never been happier. Matilda fell right back into step at home and seems supremely content back in her old routine. I missed her so much and never gave up hope that we would get her back. Robert has been bent out of shape about the whole thing too, which was why it was so ludicrous that this neighbor would claim that he said she could keep Matilda if she got hold of her. Tilly is sooo skinny from months out in the street eating *whatever.* I cried intense tears of joy when I got her home. I really think that Matilda just got lost once she got out that night in April and then didn't know how to get back home. Or maybe she did. Cats are so hard to figure out. I'm greatful to my neighbors for taking her in, but not so plussed about the fact that the girl who swore she would call me if they found my cat decided not to once she realized how sweet and lovable and housebroken Matilda is.

I would normally refrain from blogging about this at all, considering that my neighbors are aware of my blog and there is always the possibility of her reading this, but at this point, I don't care that much. Why do I trust people? Robert says that's what's wrong with getting to know neighbors. Next thing you know they're meddling in your business and stirring up acrimony. Ai carumba. I've been dwelling. I should stop.

Buy YAY! I have my cat back. It is the best. Seeing Tilly sprawled out on the floor or waking up and feeling her there at my feet or even hearing her scratching in the litterbox, is such an immense comfort to me. It sucks how attached a person can get to an animal. One of my SAT words was anthropocentrism. That means you place human values on animals. I feel like I do that with Matilda. Like I expect her to feel the way I feel. I expect her to realize how tough it was being outside and having nothing to eat and to feel greatful for the home and the love that I give her. But you can't expect that from an animal. They don't have a conscience. Or do they? Do they consciously feel sadness, longing, love-lost? I doubt it. They just live according to their instinct. I imagine that in Matilda's mind, no time has elapsed at all. Now that she's here, it's as if she was never anywhere else. She was definitely happy -- if cats can be happy -- to see me and to feel my fingers scratching her back and neck and tummy again. I imagine she recognizes my voice and maybe even has a certain awareness that she is home. But she couldn't possibly feel the relief I feel or the sentimentality.

Whatever the case with cat psyche and whether or not the love I feel for her is mutual, I am elated to have her back with Robert and I.

As for the catnapper...hopefully, this will not turn into a "to be continued..."

Move Along, Nothing to See Here

In news that's already old, but still remotely interesting to me...

Michael Jackson was acquitted. As someone who completely ignored the OJ trial, it won't come as a surprise that I also completely ignored this one. I took note when it began and when it ended, but I haven't gotten involved in the details as it all unfolded. I knew that all we could do was wait and see. I've always felt that in some sense, Michael Jackson may have done things that most people would consider wrong, whether that was the extreme of molestation or just a bizarre attempt to relive his childhood, I don't know if we'll ever be certain. But that is neither here nor there now and it was very hard to picture a jury convicting him. Try as I might to see Jackson behind bars, it's always impossible to imagine someone that famous and loved by millions being put away no matter how guilty you think they might be. A couple of things caught my attention in the case of the State of California v. Jackson, and those were:

Tom Sneddon had waaay too much of a hardon for Jackson; A condition that was parodied hilariously on one South Park episode, where Jackson moves to South Park and the white cops in town try their damndest to frame him and throw him in jail, as their very sense of self worth in life is derived from the act of throwing black men in jail for crimes they did not commit. In that particular parody Jackson is portrayed as a very strange man who likes to play children's games in his world of make-believe and is so distracted by his own desperate attempts to live out a lost childhood that he completely neglects to recognize his role as a father to his son, "Blankie." His behavior is frightening, and some things just don't seem right, but ultimately Jackson may just be a weird guy with too much money, childhood trauma to work out, and a very unconventional way of trying to commune with kids. Of course, he could also be a child molestor, but we'll never be sure from this.

Tom Sneddon's determination to nail Jackson to the wall made him seem like he had a personal vendetta that might be clouding his ability to judge whether or not Jackson was worth pursuing with the case that the DA had. A case which apparently fell far short of producing enough evidence to convict Jackson. Like OJ Simpson, Michael Jackson has already been judged harshly by the public, and it will be hard for people to let go of the notion that he is guilty, though in OJ's case I'm more sure that he killed Nicole and Ron than I am about Jackson molesting little kids.

The other problem with Sneddon's case was the fact that, despite past allegations of sexual abuse, the parents of the child in this case still allowed their child to go have sleepovers with a man who had already been accused. It seems so odd. I have heard that the kids who testified seemed very coached (who knows?), I have heard that their mother was a schemer (does filing a lawsuit in the past automatically make you a schemer?), I have heard that Jackson's defense team did everything in their power to smear the plaintiffs (that's not so unusual), and I feel the same way that I feel after most highly publicized trials: indifference. I couldn't possibly care any less. You think you do, and then you realize that you really don't. Though I do sincerely hope for the sake of those kids that Michael Jackson is not a child molester, and only time will tell I suppose, but once the jury has made up their minds, there's not a lot more to say and people just have to move on. Find some other car wreck to ogle.

So...that happened.

Act

I received this email today from Moveon.org. When I read it I, of course, did not hesitate to sign the petition. Cul also forwarded the email to me, doing his part to rouse friends and bloggers to give a moment to this issue.

Congress is trying to cut funding for publicly funded broadcasting such as PBS and NPR. My feeling is that publicly funded radio and television is essential to an educated, free-thinking society. Unfortunately, privately funded entertainment on television and radio doesn't give much of significant worth back to the community or the world, nor does it enrich people's knowledge and understanding the way that programs like PBS and NPR do.

It's amazing to me that our government is willing to pay for everything except the things that have a real solid value to the people. They don't want us to have minds or individual thoughts or access to programming that presents true reality rather than the fake reality that people can't get enough of on cable. This country is going down the shitter faster than the speed of light. We must salvage something. And this something stands for freedom, awareness, arts and enrichment. The world would be an ugly place without those things. Don't let our hideous government take it away from us so that they can pay for all of their other nefarious endeavors.

Sign the petition now! If you can't get there via the link above, cut and paste this into your browser:

http://www.moveon.org/publicbroadcasting/?id=5663-4002555-8a9relhyEIIG3a1hgTI3ag&t=3

Starry Eyed

Today was my company picnic. I took Rob and Kat and Chas as my guests. The firm threw the party at Chelsea Piers, which was a perfect location to partake in free food, activities and all kinds of good times. We got there and feasted on bbq chicken, burgers, hotdogs, potato salad, watermelon and cookies. After that Kat and Chas and I all went ice skating at the Sky Rink while Rob went and played some basketball. Ice skating was the greatest. It's been a little while. Haven't been skating since wintertime, so it was a much needed salvation from the heat and humidity beating down on the sidewalks of New York. After ice skating we put our shoes back on and made our way to the batting cages and rock climbing. Rob and I hit a few balls in the batting cages while Kat and Chas went for the rock climbing. We joined them for awhile before making our way back to the terrace where beer was still flowing and family pictures were being taken. On our way out of the rock climbing area I saw a strangely familiar face coming right toward me. Guess who it was? Do you give up?

.......

It was Dave Chappelle. Yes David Fucking Chappelle. "I'm Rick James Bitch" Chapelle. My jaw dropped and I sputtered out the eloquent words, "uh, Dave Chappelle..." I reached back to find Rob's arm and all I could say was "Rob, Rob, oh my god, it's Dave Chappelle." I know, I know, what do you say?

Much as I know as well as the next person that celebrities are just people too, not one of us can deny the fact that when you see a person, an entertainer, who you admire, who you've watched many, many times, who you feel almost as if you know personally because you know on a personal level what their work means to you, it is very, very exciting. Since moving to New York, and even before that, throughout my travels in life, I have amassed what I feel is a pretty fabulous list of famous people that I've spotted and/or briefly met. Most of us have a few stories about seeing a person that we really admire. Seeing Dave Chappelle today hit at the top of my list as far as people that it felt awesome to meet in person. He was very quiet, very nice and seemed a little melancholy. Rob was absolutely floored. He has been a Dave Chappelle fan since Half Baked came out many years ago and we have both followed and gotten much enjoyment from Chappelle's career. We once went to the live filming of one of the first episodes of the Dave Chappelle Show. That was a lot of fun. Seeing him today was completely surreal. So we shook hands and said hello and then made our way back to the terrace.

When we came back out and headed towards the end of the piers we saw Dave Chappelle sitting alone on a bench in the shade talking on his cellphone. I asked if we could have a picture of him with Rob. He said no, he was sorry, but not right now. I said no problem, but I couldn't help asking. He was cool about it. Said "I understand, I just can't right now." I said "I'm surprised the paparazzi aren't hanging over that fence trying to get a shot of you, [considering current events]." He smiled and shook his head and said "nah, if I see those guys... they might scare me off, I'd be headed back to Africa." At one point Rob told Chappelle that he was really looking forward to the next season. Rob joked around, saying "but take as much time as you need." We eventually left Dave to his solitary moments on the shady bench at Chelsea Piers. Rob was trying not to appear as if he'd just had one of the most memorable encounters of his life, as was I. But I'm not gonna lie. That was fuckin rad. I couldn't stop Rob from taking one photo on his camera phone. As Rob said "he was such a nice guy, but he did look a lil bit stressed out." You can't even really see his face, since Rob was trying to be stealth, but lo and behold, it is Dave. Also known as the fuckin' man, with the really funny jokes.

I hope Dave's not mad that I put that picture up.

Rob had to go up to Tip Top Shoes on 72nd to check on a demo in progress and at this point we'd met up with Kat's cousin Kelly. We walked down the boardwalk to a gazebo where we roosted in the shade and people watched for about an hour. Then we moseyed up to Tortilla Flats for some Mexican food and margaritas. Just what the doctor ordered. Their margaritas are the best. As we sat there enjoying our food I glanced over at the bar to see yet another strangely familiar face. Guess who it was? Do you give up? Okay, I'll tell you.

It was Jai Rodriguez from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. In case you don't watch (you fuck), he's the one in charge of culture, i.e., music, arts, jewelry, etc. If you have never watched Queer Eye, you are missing out on seeing this cutie impart his knowledge and wisdom of all things fine upon the hopeless lads that they makeover on the show.

Dammit! I LOVE that show. I just blogged about it a week ago. Ever since we got DVR I have recorded the show every week and enjoyed every second of it. Mostly I watch for the humor. I find the banter hilarious. But there is also something fascinating about seeing people who don't know what the fuck to do with themselves being put through a full on makeover. Everyone loves to see a makeover. Ain't that the truth?

So anyway, I saw Jai. I was so excited that I couldn't stay in my seat. I had to go to the bar and say hello to him. So I did. And I took a napkin and a pen with me. Turns out, Jai Rodriguez is an absolute doll. I told him what a big fan I am of the show and we had a short conversation about the pitch at Fenway park for the Red Sox last weekend and all the stink that the self righteous Christians made about the "gay presence" at the ballpark. He told the friends who he was with about the "good" Christians who were concerned with how they would explain "queer" to their children. He laughed when I said "if these people don't know how to explain the basic concept of diversity to their kids, they need to figure it out!" We shook hands again, and in a spontaneous moment he took mine and pressed it to his lips. We're talking about a full on kiss on the hand. I'm not exaggerating when I say that my knees were literally quivering to the point that I thought they were going to give out. I mean, seriously, I don't care if he's gay, imagine having this guy placing his lips anywhere on your body:

Sigh. He is freakin dreamy. And he has cute handwriting.

So today was an exciting day meant for surprising encounters. Who knew when I woke up this morning that I would run into TWO people who I truly admire and have the opportunity to talk briefly with both of them?

Please excuse all the gushing. I couldn't keep to myself.

Got Vodka?

We went to Village Karaoke last night and rented out a room in which to belt out our favorite songs at the top of our lungs. Usually we go to this place called Tinga Tinga where you can bring all your own food and alcohol, so before going to Village Karaoke I stopped and bought a huge bottle of vodka. It was Iceburg, my favorite (better than Absolut in my opinion), it was on sale for $19.99, and it was in a big plastic bottle. I couldn't resist. I knew we would have at least six people and that the alcohol would get consumed. However, I was wrong. And I wasn't the only one. We got to the karaoke spot and it turned out they have a bar and they don't allow you to bring your own alcohol. Kathleen had a bottle of wine, others had brought beer and flasks, and there I was with my humongous bottle of vodka. We managed to get our alcohol in undetected and I ordered a couple of drinks from the bar and increased the alcohol content where I felt it was necessary.

Did I mention that I didn't eat any dinner? All I'd had to eat all day was a cobb salad and a buttered roll at lunchtime. The alcohol went straight to my head. We had a great time singing, but a couple of hours later it was over and we headed out to the street. We started walking. I didn't know where we were going and I didn't care in the least. I was in a haze. We soon reached the next drinking establishment. I ordered a 7up and spiked my drink at the table. We were there for about a half hour before I realized where we were. I came to my senses for long enough to notice the shelves of books on the wall. I said to Robert, "are we at the Library?" He laughed and said "very good babe. You're very alert." The Library is a bar I've been to several times. Looking back on last night, I find it disturbing that I didn't realize that's where we were until we'd been there for quite awhile. How drunk could I have been?

Apparently, very, very drunk. I have a big white leather purse with several outer pockets and compartments. It is a huge purse. I didn't know this until Robert told me, but he claims that I lifted my big white purse over the table several times to demonstrate how my purse was like an airplane. Look! Zoom! It's fucking gigantic! Did you guys see? Do you see how gigantic it is? It is like a goddamn spaceship! Watch it soar through the sky! ...my airplane purse carrying a large cargo of Iceburg vodka.

It was at the point when Robert told me this story today that I asked if I'd embarassed him terribly. He said "I'm not gonna lie. Yes, I was a little bit embarassed, but they're your friends so who am I to be embarassed?" I felt bad. I felt bad for being so drunk, for embarassing myself and my boyfriend with my out of control antics. Fortunately, the girl at the booth next to us made me look like a pillar of sobriety, as she was passed out face down at her table. You know she was in bad shape when I was asking her friends if she was going to be okay. I was still in my right mind enough to know when someone else was even more tanked than myself. I still can't believe I was toting around that giant bottle of vodka all night and that I did not eat anything. The bottle was sitting on my counter when I came into the kitchen this morning and I was relieved to see that I hadn't actually drank that much of it. Not that it matters, because I obviously had too much one way or another.

Aiiiii. There's nothing like the guilt and self loathing that follows a night of excessive drinking.

To cure myself I've been cleaning the house and doing laundry. As long as I do something productive the day after drinking I can attempt to shake the feeling that my presence on this earth is a total waste.

Because it is our Friend

Check out this bullshit. I'm sure you've already heard that the Supreme Court of Corruption has given the feds an open invitation to prosecute those growing and using marijuana for medical purposes, even in those states that have deemed it legal for medical use.

One more way in which the Bush administration is fucking people; by appealing the ruling of a Federal Appeals Court which allowed for people to use medical marijuana.

What is wrong with a system which prosecutes people for growing and using a product that is perfectly safe for both medical and personal recreational use, while cigarettes and alcohol continue to be leading killers in this country and remain perfectly legal?

Why does our federal government continue to look upon marijuana as if it were a dangerous narcotic, when it clearly is not? There's a reason, and it has nothing to do with our best interest. I invite each and every person reading this to find one case where marijuana has caused injury comparable to that caused every single day to thousands of individuals by the use of cigarettes, alcohol and prescription drugs - ALL LEGAL. In fact, think about the side affects and problems that arise with the use of prescription drugs! Pharmaceutical companies can put pretty much any damn thing on the market they please, regardless of whether it causes everything from heart attacks and rectal bleeding to severe mental psychosis. Yet marijuana remains illegal to people who are suffering from glaucoma, lack of appetite due to AIDS and cancer, acute back pain and countless other ailments, while having virtually no negative side affects whatsoever with the exception of possible laziness, hopeless procrastination and the desire to eat copious quantities of food.

So, what is wrong with this country?

I will tell you in case you aren't already painfully aware. What is wrong with this country is that many people are sheep. They don't care about the truth, they only care about what the government tells them to do. What is wrong with this country is that our government exerts an uncomfortable level of control over many areas of our life where they should not have any control. The United States government should not have the final say in what is the best way for each of us to handle our bodies and treat our health problems. Americans should not be prevented from seeking out the medical care they need, or from using cannabis for all its amazing properties, so that the government can maintain an endless shitty agenda of demonizing cannabis in order to keep it out of the U.S. market, shielding big corporations from the profit loss that would result from the proliferation of such a cheap and infinitely useful product.

Cannabis is one of the most versatile and positively useful substances on this planet. The United States government deprives us of its legal use every single day.

This shit has got to stop. My heart breaks every time I read news like this where I realize that ignorance is a disease and propaganda is the bacteria that causes it. I am reminded that even in the year 2005, we are still fighting for things that we should never have had to fight for in the first place. Things that we are entitled to if we are to be considered free in America.

While methamphetamines grip the rural suburbs and hopeless wastelands of America, while alcohol fuels rage and domestic abuse and car accidents in homes and on highways across this country, while prescription drug addiction sweeps people into a dark, listless numb... Every day I see anti-drug ads on television where marijuana is painted as the devil, the arch-evil gateway to hell and damnation; Ads where people allow their children to drown because they're busy getting stoned or where their lives go down the toilet because they smoked pot, while you will never find these things truly happening as a result of marijuana use. I don't see ads about crack and methamphetamine. I don't see ads discouraging teens from drinking alcohol while binge drinking is the number one sport in high schools and colleges across the country. I don't see ads about domestic violence. But every day I see an ad discouraging the use of marijuana.

This is a propagandist campaign of monumental proportions and one that has been allowed to go on for three quarters of a century.

When will people wake up and demand the rights that belong to us in this country? The right to manage our health and our bodies the way we see fit? The right to grow a harmless weed in our yard and use it however we choose? When will we demand that the government stop lying to us and tell us the real reason why marijuana is illegal? When will people learn to see the truth; that the drug, alcohol, tobacco, lumber and firearms trades would all suffer? When will the average sheep in America realize that Marijuana was illegalized in the first place as the result of heavy racism, ignorance, and the protection of special interests?

Stand up Americans! Demand your right to use cannabis. For your health, for fun, to wear on your back, to write on with ink. Save the rainforest. Save lives. Fight for Cannabis. Peace the fuck out.

Who needs spam when you have ByBeautyDamned?

So have you ever seen that infomercial for the "Onesweep"? That black rubber thing stuck to the end of a long pole that magically picks up dirt and grime better than regular brooms and mops? Well, I pretty much never order anything off of the television, but the Onesweep had me. Not right at hello, but pretty soon thereafter. So I ordered it. I tried it right away outside on my stairs and in the laundry room on the cement floor. It worked okay, but I wasn't terribly impressed, so I stuck it in the corner by the fridge and didn't bother with it again for awhile.

Meanwhile, I've had two vacuum cleaners in the past three years and they've both broken down and/or lost suction. Cheap vacuum cleaners are the worst. My mom had a vacuum cleaner when I was a kid that was a big green tank which had to be dragged around the house while you cleaned, making for a laborious experience as a young kid. (My mother righteously put us to work with chores when we were old enough - a damn good thing since it taught us to be tidy.) Anyway, my mom's vacuum cleaner was big and ugly as far as us kids were concerned and we ridiculed her about it all the time. She would get upset and tell us that was the best vacuum she'd ever owned. She claimed it was made out of an airplane engine. She swore on her life that that is what the salesman had told her and she believed him absolutely. She'd had it forever and she loved it enough to defend it fiercely.

Years later she has still told me that she misses that thing. She eventually gave it up for other new fangled models and says she's never found one that good again. Now I totally understand where she was coming from. A good vacuum cleaner is hard to come by, and they're not cheap. Cheap ones are a waste of money.

So last night as I was sitting on my couch thinking about how disgusting the carpet looked and wondering if I should get a new vacuum cleaner or just get the old ones fixed, I got the bright idea to try out the Onesweep on the carpet as I'd seen done in the infomercial. Let me just tell you that it worked like a dream. Granted, it's a fucking workout and a half. My arms haven't felt that kind of burn since the last time I carried ten bags of groceries home at once and even that didn't give me the kind of deep, satisfying burn that this did. I went crazy. I did the whole living room and dining room. I felt like wonderwoman when I was done. Like I'd just lifted a car off of a trapped baby. My carpet was free. Dirt, hair and dust free. With a lot of pressure and short strokes, you can get the dirt out from between the fibers of the carpet with a thoroughness that you don't really seem to get with the average Bissel (those things totally suck, meaning that they totally don't suck at all).

I seriously don't want to do that every time I have to clean my carpet (though I could use the exercise), so I have decided to buy a new (hopefully higher quality) vacuum cleaner with the hopes that it will outperform the others, but in moments of extreme desperation for immediate cleanliness, this thing is more than effective.

So now you know. Tai Bo? Who needs it? Get your workout with the onesweep. Am I a great advertisement or what? My floor is clean and that's all I care about.

Fabulous Fags at Fenway

Sorry. I know the title is not PC, but it couldn't be suppressed.

Robert and I spent the weekend in Hingham, Mass. working. We intended to drive there and back on Saturday, but ended up deciding to get a hotel room (actually it was a motel room and it was horrid - last minute sleeping arrangements are the pits) and staying the night because we were so tired. His friend Dave came with us. We went out to eat at someplace called 99. Maybe you know of it. Really good fried ravioli. Tough, bland steaks. Hugest margarita I've ever had in my life. Totally made me barf. And not because I was drunk. It was just so goddamn big and it didn't want to stay in my belly. Oh well.

So Dave picked up a copy of the Boston Harald while we were sitting there eating our meals and, knowing that I'm a Queer Eye fan, pointed out an article about how Carson Kressley of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy would be throwing out the first pitch at Fenway Park on Sunday and and how some people were super offended by the whole idea.

"What would Ted Williams think? Would he turn over in his freezer?'' Mary Clossey, a Newton mom of eight who has been a critic of gay-rights efforts, said of the Sox' decision to let three stars of the TV show "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'' throw out tomorrow's ceremonial first pitch. "I'm tired of hearing about homosexuality. Sunday is a family day at Fenway Park. Why would you want to do that on a Sunday?''

There's nothing I can say in response to that without getting red in the face and wanting to strangle that dumb beeeotch, so I'm just going to let you mull it over on your own.

Aside from the fact that Queer Eye is one of my favorite shows and I absolutely adore Carson Kressley, I just don't understand what the hell crawled up these people's asses and died, causing them to have such a stank attitude towards gays. Oh yeah. It was the bible. The bible crawled up their asses and died.

Some argued that the Red Sox should not trot out the Fab Five at Fenway on a Sunday because it is a "family day'' and may force parents to have to explain what "queer'' means to children.

It makes me insane when I see and hear people saying utterly moronic things like "how am I supposed to explain this to my children?"

How do you explain the existence of homosexuals to your children? I don't know. How do you explain to them that there are people of different cultures in the world who don't live just like them? [what different cultures? Oh, why mention them?] How do you explain to your children that some people don't practice the same religion as them? [those people are going to hell] How do you explain to your children about sex and babies? [you should just never have sex, nevermind the details. Condoms are evil. Babies come from storks.] How do you explain to your children that the world is not a predictable place where everything is exactly what we wish it could be? [you can have anything you want as long as you don't worry about anyone but yourself!] How do you explain anything to your children? How do you explain Love. Nature. The Universe.

Why did you have children if you can't explain simple, basic concepts such as diversity and tolerance? That's what being a parent is about. If the idea of explaining to your kids what it means to be queer is intimidating, what do you do about all the rest?

Anyway, the whole thing went off without a hitch, despite the crying gay haters. Meanwhile, is this not the best picture? God I love that man. I'm a fag-hag and I'm proud, so don't try to stop me.

Pretty in Pink

It Was Fun

You are Miss Piggy.
You are talented and the center of attention.
At least you'd like to think you are.
You're really just a pig.

FAVORITE EXPRESSIONS:
"Moi", "Moi" and
"Moi!"
LAST BOOK READ:
"Women Who Run With Frogs And The Frogs Who
Better Wise Up Quick"

FAVORITE MOVIE:
"To Have and Have More"

DRESS SIZE:
If it's expensive, it fits.

BEST FEATURES:
Eyes, eyebrows, eyelashes, nose, cheeks, hair,
ears, neck, shoulders, arms, elbows, hands,
fingers, legs, knees, ankles, feet, toes and so
on and so forth.

SPECIAL ABILITIES:
Singing, Dancing, Directing, Producing, Writing,
Starring, and Being Famous.


What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yes I'm Still Alive...but just barely

I'm a bad, bad girl.

I've been neglecting my blog again. Neglecting as in, haven't felt that there are enough hours in the day lately to include blogging in the agenda. I know. I am a dastardly sinner.

I'm being punished by the gods of blog. I am so freaking sick right now that there's nothing else to do but sleep, watch tv and blog about it. I came down with some awful infection that's just gotten progressively worse over the past two days. Tonight I came home from work and went straight to sleep. My neighbor came by to see if I still wanted to go to open mic with him, but I just couldn't bring myself to leave the house. I apologized and went back to bed. My chest is burning, ears are full of cotton, nose stuffy and runny at the same time, body feels like a sack of potatoes.

In cheerier news, I bought our plane tickets to Oregon for the fourth of July and I am really, really excited. Unfortunately, Ashland was recently featured on both the Food Network (40$ a day with Rachel Ray!) and in the Travel section of the New York Times, so ticket prices were horribly expensive and flight options into Medford were pretty slim pickins. Damn Ashland for being such a cute little tourist town.

I told Darcie on the phone yesterday that anyone who was born in Medford, Oregon should get paid to come back, or at least get a discounted flight!!! I was born in that town and forced to live in Ashland for the duration of my prime teenage years and now I have to pay more than $500 to go visit! It's scandalous.

Anyway, much as I joke, I am so excited to see my family and friends and continue one of the best traditions of all: Fourth of July, Ashland-style.