Friday, September 30, 2005

Note to self

Dear Helen,
Do me a favor, willya? Next time, eat more than a Hershey bar for dinner before you take me out drinking, mmmmmkay? Come on, now. We're 32 years old. We know better. Dumbass.


Your achin' fuckin' head

ps. Just for the record, thanks for a good time. That Poop guy throws a pretty sweet party, and it's nice that we don't seem to hate boys quite so much anymore. I appreciate you letting me use the right hand to grab that Alexis chick's ass, too. Yowza. -yafh

Thursday, September 29, 2005


Eat it, Tommy boy! Bwah ha ha ha ha!!!

I think I'm gonna send the complete set of Oz DVD's to Tom's office. You know, to help him prepare for prison life. I like to help. I'm a helper. Yep.

Come to think of it, Dubya's gonna need some help preparing for his speech about this debacle.

Hey George? It's pronounced "in-DITE-ed," honey. The "c" is silent. Yeah.


You're going DOWN, pigfuckers! DOWN! Yessssssss

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Oh yeah, I'm a WYSIWYG-er

This morning I tried to summarize my first WYSIWYG experience for someone. More difficult than it sounds...YOU try to explain to a straight guy what a gay guy meant by "make a mess for daddy." G'head. Jesus christ already.

Instead, I just told him it was awesome and hysterical, and that meeting bloggers in person is kinda like online dating, but without all the pesky sexual tension.

It was nice to finally have a conversation with my former stalkee, along with NY's cutest-ever intern and "Joe's tall friend." Chris is the cat's fuckin' pajamas ("it's like, kah-ray-zee!") The adorable and hilarious token straight dude was an unexpected bonus. My constant companions were thoroughly entertained. My dad left a message during the show to let me know he's home from the hospital. All in all it was a damn fine time, and there are a bunch of new links on my blogroll to prove it.

I did, however, call Alexis T. a "fucking Puerto Rican whore" at some point, solely out of misery caused by her conspicuous absence from the evening's events. I'd like to state for the record that while Alexis T. is in fact Puerto Rican, I do not believe her to be involved in prostitution in any way. I have amended her link on my page to reflect this retraction. Thank you.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Appearing semi-live this evening...

In answer to all (okay, both) of the queries I've received: Yes, I will be attending tonight's WYSIWYG event, in the company of the devastatingly handsome and mercilessly witty Charles Poguego. Considerate semi-anonymous talking internet head that I am, I thought I'd provide a recent photo of myself to ensure that my adoring throngs are able to properly flock.

Image by these guys, who unwittingly kept me from jumping out a window today.
In my case, be assured that what you see is exactly what you get. Can't wait...

Monday, September 26, 2005

The power of television

In between periods of blinding pain, hits of percocet, and the long periods of "sleep" that followed them this weekend, I was lucky enough to catch the first episode of TransGeneration. For those of you who don't know, this is an eight-part documentary on the Sundance Channel that follows the daily lives of four transgendered students at universities around the country.

It's fascinating subject matter, and I enjoyed the way that the stories unfolded uniquely for each of the individuals. These documentarians, however, have done something over and above making a run-of-the-mill reality TV show that happens to be about transgendered teenagers. They've managed to inadvertently expose and examine a powerful, irrefutable universal truth that crosses all boundaries of gender, sexual orientation, and ethnicity:

College kids are SO.FUCKING.ANNOYING.

I'll be sticking to Spongebob on a go-forward basis.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Percocet didn't work

Anybody got a surefire cure for a migraine? I can't seem to get rid of this thing...

God, I just went all LiveJournal there for a minute.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Love is in the

I thought I was gonna tell all you lucky people about my dad's triple bypass/heart valve replacement surgery today. But then, I saw something so compelling in the Missed Connections section of craigslist that I had to share it. Since it's obvious that the author of this posting, entitled "You know who you are, I think," is pining away for my blog homie, I feel it's my solemn duty to do what I can to bring these two kids together. So Stevie, if you're out there, here you go:

maybe you dont, maybe that's the problem. Who cares. What I want to say is, now that I've had anal sex I've decided I don't like it. I told my girlfriends about it, they thought it was gross, I guess I'm glad I had the experience, but really it was weird. First off, the dude was so HUGE, I couldn't believe it, it would have felt a lot nicer going in the other way, I still fantasize about that particular one going in the other way, the RIGHT way, and its a shame really, what a waste. Anyhoo, I just thought after our last correspondence that i'd like to clarify where I stand on that particular issue, though life is learning and learning is life, so at least now I know for sure that I can say "Anal? No thanks. BTW, is anyone else enjoying the guacamole as much as me???"

Man, though, that guy sure had a big one.

My work here is done. Enjoy your weekend. And your guacamole.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

The end...near?

Residents of New York City, whether born and raised here or somehow sucked into the glittering, piss-reeking vortex from other locales, maintain what can only be described as a love/hate relationship with Gotham.

We love the excitement, the endless variety of food and art and culture and sex and music and madness, the ability to get almost anything we want at any hour of the day by placing no more than three phone calls, the history, the beautiful people, the fashion, the pockets of comfort and familiarity we carve out for ourselves, and the sense of being smack in the middle of...everything.

We hate the ridiculous cost of everything from living space to cigarettes, the stench, the summer's humidity, the winter's frigidity, the dirty cops and politics, the interminably hectic pace, the noise, the conflict, the filth, the rampant materialism, and the sense of being smack in the middle of the favorite target of terrorists the world over.

There are things that happen here that just don't...and couldn't... happen anywhere else. Some of those things, like the Mermaid Parade and Summerstage and annual the lighting of the tree at Rockefeller Center, are further reasons to love New York, and to stay here. Others, like what happened to me this morning...not so much. I was just trying to get to work, you see...

I was standing blearily on the sidewalk, waiting for the bus. That's all. When the driver pulled up, he failed to slow down enough, swung the corner of the bus WAAAAAAY up onto the sidewalk, and very nearly ended my existence. I jumped about three feet back, barely evading the fifteen tons of immediate death swerving toward me at twenty-five miles an hour. For the second time in a week, my life flashed before my eyes due to some asshole's poor driving skills.

When I got on the bus, I was understandably a bit shaken. I smiled nervously at the bored-looking, forty-something driver and mentioned quietly that he had cut a bit close for comfort.

"Where was you standin'?" he demanded.

"On the sidewalk. Clearly you saw me. "

"Yeah well, that part of the sidewalk is my territory. You don't need to be standing there."

To say that I was incredulous is like calling Paris Hilton vapid and repellent.

"Dude...are you kidding me? Are you telling me that it's MY FAULT that you nearly just killed me with this bus?"

"Did you just call me DUDE?"

"Answer the question, SIR, " I spit back.

By this point, a hush had fallen over the standing-room only bus crowd, mostly composed of giggling school kids and sullen working poor on their way to the salt mines.

"Yeah, you damn right it's your fault. You stand in the way, the bus gonna hit you!"

"In the WAY? On the SIDEWALK? You have a bus full of CHILDREN here, and you mean to tell me that it's okay to HIT THEM WITH THE BUS if they're STANDING ON THE SIDEWALK?" (There were several mothers accompanying their kids. I wanted to make sure they heard that part very clearly.)

He stopped the bus and opened the door.

"Why don't you just take your chances with someone else then, lady?"

"Ooooooh!" erupted from the kids.

I couldn't help it, I started laughing. This moron had just nailed the coffin shut on his own job.

"You know what, SIR? That's an excellent idea. Clearly you should not and will not be trusted with MY safety. " I looked him in the eye and smiled before I got off. "Don't think for a second that this is over. SIR."

I made note of the bus number and was on the phone with the MTA before he had pulled away from the sidewalk. Yes, I am one of "those people." A squeaky wheel. A formal complaint was been filed, and believe me when I tell you that I will not stop until that sonofabitch no longer has the opportunity to use a fucking city bus as a weapon.

Then I was off the phone, and by myself once again. My hands were shaking. I was furious. I was anxious. I had come close to dying. It was 8:15 in the morning.

It occurred to me then that I'd just had yet another "only in New York" moment. It goes without saying that this was not of the Rockefeller Christmas tree variety. Where else in the world would a fucking city employee be anything but apologetic for nearly causing someone grave bodily harm with his carelessness? Where else would someone think he could get away with something so awful and ridiculous? Nowhere. NO. GOD. DAMN. WHERE.

Which brings me back to my original point. Lately, my New York love/hate balance-o-meter has been shifting noticeably toward "hate." More and more often, I think of the city as my gorgeous, charming, talented boyfriend who treats me like crap 80% of the time. When he's good, dear god is he ever good. But when he's could kill me.

There's that moment that comes in every doomed relationship when you know with stabbing certainty that it will, at some undetermined point in the future, end painfully. It's the "I love you, but..." feeling. It's unique, and it's ominous. It starts as a quiet little pebble of doubt in your belly, and it grows larger and larger as it rolls around collecting all the little things about your lover that you can't stand. Finally, when it gets big enough, the lover has to go, or your guts will burst, Alien-style. There's no other choice.

New York, love you, but...

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Get SKOOL'd!

Yo, NYC peeps...this should be a fun event for a couple of great causes. (An open bar on a Thursday night could be an accident waiting to happen, but what the hell.) If your eyesight prevents you from reading the flyer clearly (as mine did), please email me for details. I recommend buying your tickets today, as they take a steep hike in price tomorrow.

Hope to see you, whoever you are! If not, well...more free booze and sushi for us.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005


photo courtesy of, who authenticated it. via roomie Jenn.

With New Orleans poised to get Effed in the A yet again, thought y'all'd appreciate at least one bit of good news from a Katrina survivor and fellow blogger. (I expect happy dances from Jess and Curly McDimple.)

Please continue to make donations if you can...some of the banners at the top of this page should be Red Cross ads, in between the other random crap Google keeps sticking up there. (If they're not, click here for a list of Katrina resource sites.)

Monday, September 19, 2005

Weekend Update

Giraffes: dirty, sweaty, awesome. (fifth photo down...Aaron serenades Coco.) Rosenthal was wearing tighter pants than usual. Very interesting. Damien let me touch his boobies, that was nice. Ran into some old friends, and broke in a new one. All the makings of an outstanding time.

Jon Spencer: good show, but I agree with stereogum...they showed me nothing new.

Drag Citizen: their most solid, cohesive performance as a three piece to date. The new songs are catchy & impressive enough that I didn't even miss the old ones. Too bad the Continental's owner, Trigger, is SUCH.A.DOUCHEBAG. That's all I have to say about that.

Somehow after that show, I ended up riding through the East Village in a shopping cart. With my legs hanging out. In a skirt. Thankfully I was wearing underwear, though it was somewhat minimal. Whupps.

Narrowly avoided a street brawl after a late dinner, when some asshole threw a deliberate and unprovoked elbow at Maya, and I went after him. I may be small and generally non-violent, people, but I have a zero tolerance policy for that sort of stupidity. That pretty well ruined my mood for the rest of the weekend. Let's hope this evening's Yankee game, which I'll be viewing from the comfort of my company's catered luxury box, lightens my spirits.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

If I leave here tomorrow...

Nashville Pussy was amazing. It was great to see Karen, who has never looked or played better. It's fitting that she played the last show I'll probably ever see at CB's.

I got a new Zeke shirt. I hadn't seen them play for years. They haven't changed at all. They played Freebird. No, really. Awesome.

I've only been awake for a couple hours, and it's already time to start getting ready for the Giraffes and DC. I believe I'm officially too old for all this rockstar crap. Guess I can't let that stop me, at least until after this weekend.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Crowding Manhattan with Jagoffs

Yes, it's CMJ time again here in Gotham City. Whoop-de-fucking-do-dah.

I wish I could get excited about it...but as much as I love music, I hate crowds of stupid people far, far more, so no dice.

In spite of that, there are still some shows worth seeing. If I can bum a Xanax off someone, hopefully I'll be calm enough to attend without bitch-slapping a hipster or "music journalist."

At midnight tonight, Nashville Pussy graces the lease-free stage of CBGB. If you haven't seen this band, it's worth braving what's sure to be a sick crowd. Karen Exley (of Hemi Cuda fame), one of my old Denver bizotches, is playing bass for them now...they were ridiculous and awesome before. I can't even imagine what they're like now.

Tomorrow night's my big "drink up and deal" CMJ night, though...

The Giraffes are on at 9 PM at Pussycat Lounge, followed by the godddamn Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. (It is very, very weird to watch your friends become real live rockstars, people. Awesome, but weird.) Guaranteed at this show are many boobs, mad rawk, and lotsa liquor. How and why would I turn that down?

Then the posse jumps a cab to the East Village, where glam stars Drag Citizen hit the stage at the Continental at 12 midnight. Word is that they've got some amazing new material, and that somehow drummer Danny Fever has managed to get even hotter. I have to go, just to see how that's humanly possible. That kid needs a serious whuppin'.

Pray for those who get in my way and/or on my nerves during the course of this venture. They're gonna need it.

If you're around Sunday, stop by this Katrina benefit. I'm sure we'll be there, indulging in mad gayness and a little hair of the dog. (This bitch will be there. That was enough to motivate me.)

Last and most is Mohammed's berfday. We love Mohammed. Sweet.

I'm off...but I better see some of you hookers before Monday, that's all I'm sayin'.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Smoke, or get rats and the clap

Mr. Pinky, reporter for the Ninth Circle's Colorado bureau, submits the following:

NEW YORK: "Mayor's Report: Employment Is Up in New York, but So Are Rats and Syphilis" (Associated Press, 09.12.05, Sara Kugler)

According to New York City's annual Mayor's Management Report, which reviewed fiscal year 2005, crime and unemployment are low, but the city is battling a rat problem. The city's bill of health is mixed: Fewer New Yorkers are smoking, but syphilis is increasing. The city's number of syphilis cases rose from 599 in fiscal 2004 to 646 in 2005. Thomas Frieden, the health department's commissioner, said that increase mirrors a troubling trend worldwide.

To that I say: Nurse Ratched, I'd like my cigarettes please.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

This is how we do it

I left my Rockefeller Center office at about ten 'til one today, headed thirteen blocks south to pick up my pathetic joke of a paycheck. Midtown Manhattan is a cacophony of retardation at its least crowded...lunchtime on a warm, sunny day is about the worst possible time to get anywhere or do anything on Fifth Avenue. If I didn't need the money so desperately, I wouldn't have dreamed of venturing out at ten 'til one.

It's not terribly surprising, then, that a car turning off of Fifth onto 43rd Street came within a hairsbreadth of taking me right the fuck out. He gunned it as he turned, too. Six inches to the left, and I'd have been road pizza.

Me personally, I don't take kindly to such potentially disastrous impositions. Thus, I reacted as any New Yorker would. I pounded hard on the side of his car as he passed, and screamed "YOU FUCKING STUPID ASSHOLE!" into his open car window.

I glanced around and caught a couple of horrified tourists gaping at me like they'd never heard a dirty word before. Um, okay. Sure folks. I'M the asshole for violating your pristine Midwestern eardrums with my scathing public profanity. That poor know, the one who ALMOST KILLED ME JUST NOW? I should be ashamed for subjecting him that kind of abuse!

Blow me, people. Seriously. Fuck you, fuck the place you came from, and fuck your momma too. I know tourism brings tons of cash to New York, but since none of said cash is going toward my ridiculous rent, I can just as well do without the jillions of jiggly-assed morons who pack our streets like so many slackjawed sheep. But that's just me.

Oh well. At least Richard Lewis totally checked out my boobs when I passed him on the street about ten minutes later. No, really. See? Living here, it's not all bad.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Read and Learn

I'm not feeling ambitious enough to conjure up an I Wonder Monday this week (not to mention that I think that bit may have run its course.)

Instead, just read this and this and be utterly entertained. Because I said so, that's why.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Four Years Later

I rode the J train over the bridge into Manhattan yesterday. It was so clear and bright and gorgeous of those rare and perfect late summer days that make the city seem newer and cleaner somehow. People seem friendlier, further from their's hard not to revel in everything about New York on days like that. In the middle of winter's life-sucking, miserable cold, it's the thought of those types of days that keep us Northeasters from packing up and moving to Florida once and for all.

As I was looking out over the water and the apartment houses and offices and billboards and washlines and cars and scads of wandering people, a thought that's hit me too many times in the past three years entered my mind once again:

I still can't believe that I'm here and they're not.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Last night's final score...

Hand dryer in the bathroom of Diner 24: 2
Helen Damnation: zero

Oh well. My partner Jack Daniels and I put up a good fight, anyway.
Next time, bitch!

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Revenge: The Final Word

I learned today that my entire "to ruin or not to ruin the ex" dilemma could have been avoided completely, had I only I had met Miss Rhoda Hoarse before I kicked The Douche to the curb.

They say that living well is the best revenge...clearly "they" haven't read this.

Rhoda, you crazy bitch. I love you.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Revenge...okay, maybe not so much.

So I promised I'd follow up on this, and for once, I'm not totally full of shit.

The back story is this: I was in a thoroughly fucked up relationship with an even more thoroughly fucked up (okay, sociopathic) person for a year. I got with the program ended it almost a year ago, after months of absolute misery. He cheated, he lied, he lied about cheating, he did everything he could to convince me I was crazy for thinking he'd EVER do such a thing, etc. and so forth. Familiar story. Thing is, even though all the signs were there and I knew in my heart that something was going on, I never had any proof.

Never, that is, until two weeks ago, when an unwitting stranger admitted that she had in fact been sleeping with The Douche (as he is commonly called) for at least two months before we split up.

Despite the fact that I despise the little weasel and have no desire to ever be in so much as the same ZIP code with him again, that hurt. It took me a long time to recover from that situation to any real degree, and the solid knowledge that he had taken another woman (or women...) into our bed dragged me back a bit. It solidified my own stupidity along with his deception and disrespect...overall, a solid, well-aimed kick in the teeth.

And, or course, it made me angry. Extremely angry. And worse yet...there was no way to really vent it. Speaking to him is out of the question. I'd rather scoop out my own knee with something rusty than ever have to hear his whiny, wheedling little voice again. So all this impotent, burning, well-justified rage, and nowhere to put it.

But then something occurred to me. The Douche, irresponsible, unconscionable fuck that he is, has been involved in something quite illegal for the past five years. And by "quite illegal," I mean "spend a year in the federal pen getting assrammed by a member of the Aryan Brotherhood" type stuff. One phone call to the right set of authorities, and he's on his way to a size ten poopshoot. And I was ready to make that call, let me tell you.

I decided, however, not to take vengeful action while I was still so consumed with fury. I'm not a vindictive person by nature. I believe in karma, I really do. But dammit, my ex is a shitty human being, and I wanted to hurt him for what he put me through. The initial feelers I put out to friends on whether or not I should send him up the river returned mixed results. My friends all hate The Douche's guts, of course, but they were also worried about whether it would do me any real good to fuck him over so severely. Even my shrink said that she thought he deserved whatever he got, but wanted me think carefully before delivering it to him.

So that's what the initial post was about. I thought that the insights of friends and strangers might help tilt the balance of my thoughts one way or the other. I received quite a few comments and emails, and even this fairly horrifying post by the ever-adorable Sangroncito...thanks to all y'all for that.

After all that reading and some simmer-down time, I've decided not to make the call. For now.** I have to keep believing that the little scumbag will get what's coming to him in this life. If I lose that belief, that'll be one more thing I've allowed him to take from me. It's been a hard year, and I've made too much of a comeback to permit that. Let him go on thinking he can live like he does...the universe will take care of him.

I just hope that when that happens, the universe sees fit to send me a nice little letter containing every lurid detail of his misery. (And of course I'll post it here for you to read as soon as I receive it.)

**Any more evidence of his infidelities, etc. surfaces ever, EVER again, and I'll take it to mean that karma has a job for me to do. Enough said.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Tag, I'm it

You know that you have true affection for a person when he memes you and you don't even get pissed at him for it. I have no idea what exactly "meme" means, or how to pronounce it. I just do what Glennalicious tells me to. I must say, though, that this feels kinda like jury duty...I'd escaped it until now, and meme-ing has finally caught up with me.

That said, here goes...

Songs I'm Fully Digging Right Now

Neil Young - Heart of Gold (I think this is officially my themesong)
Ringside - Spanishfaster
Fischerspooner - Megacolon
The Giraffes - Manchester United
Mishka Shubaly - Drooping the Boom
Drag Citizen - All the Tables are Turnin'
Public Enemy - The whole Fear of a Black Planet album
Sia - Breathe Me
Minor Majority - She's a New Yorker

And then we have 7 Answers to 7 Questions:

7 things I plan to do before I die:
1) Have sex again (hey, it could happen)
2) Finish my book and get it published
3) Stop working for other people
4) Travel all over the place (all over Africa & Italy, most importantly)
5) Raise a dog
6) Live in Hawaii
7) Learn Italian

7 things I can do:
1) Burp like a hard-drivin' truckerman
2) Find myriad ways to screw off at work
3) Play Piano Man on the harmonica
4) Alienate friends, family, and strangers alike
5) Sleep through damn near anything
6) Find covert places to pee in public
7) Tell it like it is

7 things I cannot do:
1) Keep my goddamned mouth shut
2) Listen to Coldplay or the Strokes without getting homicidal
3) Anything that requires a high level of physical coordination
4) Smoke weed
5) Date
6) Forget some things I'd really like to
7) Stop being so restless

7 things that attract me to another person:
1) A big, big brain
2) Good taste
3) Humor (preferably sick, infantile, and/or semi-retarded)
4) Sweetness with a side of edge
5) Ability to read without moving lips
6) Evil little glimmer in the eyes
7) Pure, unfiltered hotness

7 things that I say most often:
1) "No, I don't have Tourette's...why do you ask?"
2) "Sorry 'bout that."
3) "Where's the bathroom, again?"
4) "Glurk" (the sound of a beverage shooting out my nose)
5) "Dang!"
6) "Pardon you have any Grey Poupon?"
7) "No, I'm not Beyonce Knowles. I just have a huge ass."

7 celebrity crushes:
1) Dave Grohl
2) Clooney
3) Depp
4) Brangelina
5) Andy Garcia
6) Dave Navarro
7) John Rosenthal

7 bloggers I want to do both of these thingies
(partly because I know they won't choke me over it):
1) Jessica
2) Anna
3) Big Dan
4) Dagon
5) TK
6) Is that seven yet?
7) No? It was only five? Well, isn't that a shame.

Sunday, September 04, 2005


There are several things that I'm pretty sure actually happened last night.
  1. I drank a startling amount of red wine followed by god knows what else.
  2. I had a lovely conversation with a nice boy in a Neil Young shirt in some bar, solely because he was wearing said Neil Young shirt.
  3. Charles and I saw Vanilla Ice's movie. The fact that such a thing even exists is a topic for another day. (Or not.) But we actually WATCHED it. Wow. (Thanks Chip!)

I arrived home at 5:49 in the AM. I awoke about 20 minutes ago, wearing nothing but a Kimberly Locke t-shirt I've never seen before and clutching a mostly empty can of Reduced-fat Pringles.

I hope I had fun.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Pieces of Jesus

I saw a bumper sticker today that said, "NO JESUS, NO PEACE."

All the prejudicial, small-minded implications of this statement made this particular non-Christian furious. Like, ready-to-kill mad.

Wait...does that mean the sticker's right?


Friday, September 02, 2005

Porcine Cosmetology

What a fucking incomprehensible, heartbreaking, life-ruining mess. And of course, our Bushie government made it far worse by failing to respond until TODAY. Jesus.

Watching the news is just way too depressing...this post, by a New Orleans blogger I adore, had me close to tears. This disaster is probably going to end up being worse than 9/11 on many levels.

Because of this stultifying abundance of misery, I wanted to give y'all a couple of reminders that life ain't all shit all the time. Let's put some lipstick on this pig, wanna?

For one, my friends Nina and David are getting married tomorrow. In addition to being wonderful, kind, and hilarious people, they are both frighteningly brilliant. They love each other very much, and very well. The world will be a better place with their offspring running around in it. So congratulations to them.

For two...some of you might remember this. (If not, read it, or else the rest of this will make no sense to you.) Well, the Narcophonic team did it. The Depp guitar is in Depp's hands. I've never doubted that those guys would be a major stars, and now they're one step closer. Amazing.

We can't block out what's happened in Katrina's wake. We can do our bit to help, and we can keep moving forward. (And of course, we can ELECT A FUCKING DEMOCRATIC PRESIDENT NEXT TIME...)

Now if you'll excuse me, there's an extra-dirty Sapphire martini with my name on it waiting downtown. Enjoy the end of your summer, campers.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Revenge: Sweet? job + all kindsa errandy-type crap I've been putting off for too long = not much time for blogging right about now.

I do, however, have a question for y'all, which I hope you have the time and inclination to answer:

If you could do something...let's say, make one phone call...that would wreak some well-deserved havoc in the world of a rotten, sociopathic scumbag who had maliciously, intentionally, and severely wronged you in the recent past...would you do it?

How do you feel about unadulterated vengeance? Is believing in karma enough, or do you think there are times when the universe needs a little assistance in balancing things out? Had any interesting revenge-related experiences? Unanticipated consequences, maybe, or stunning successes resulting from vindictive behavior? Inquiring snarky little bitches want to know.

Clearly, I'm facing a fairly intense ethical/personal dilemma here, which of course I'll spill about soon. In the meantime, comment, email me, whatevah.

(And yes, people, I know that there are far more important things going on in the world, and I encourage you to help if you can. But we've all got our individual little corners of the existence, and this here's mine. Dig?)
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