Monday, October 31, 2005

Scared Shitless

Due to stupid illness, my Halloween activities were substantially restricted this year. Wearing orange & black underwear today is pretty much it. Missed yet another awesome JDAT show on Friday, even, on account of the fever. Laaaaame. (Thankfully, a certain adorable guitarist provided me with photos of the highlights, so I didn't feel so left out. Thanks Dirty!)

I'm back in typing shape today, so in honor of this most spooky of holidays, I thought I'd share something scary that happened to me a few years back. This is not for the faint of heart, so quit reading now if you're not in the mood to be seriously spooked. Don't say I didn't warn you...

One fateful night in the fall of 2002, when I was still but a newbie NY'er, I made my first trip to CBGB, New York's historical home of all things punk rock. I was almost inordinately excited...this was the home of The Ramones, the Talking Heads...and finally, after years of dreaming about it, there I was. I was ecstatic. A friend's band took the stage, I had a few beers, everyone was having the best time...

And happened.

The unavoidable.

I had to use the bathroom.

The stairs down into the ancient, dank basement creaked beneath me as I descended toward the ladies' room. The temperature dropped noticeably, and I shivered. I took comfort in the band stickers pasted all around me, and the graffiti scrawled and carved on the walls. So many faithful rock fans had passed here before me...surely I was safe. Nothing could happen to me here...could it? So why this feeling of dread in my belly? Some visceral part of my being sensed danger here, where there should be none.

I reached the bathroom door, pushed it open slowly, cautiously...peering in, I realized I had been holding my breath. I took a couple of tentative steps inside, when the door suddenly SLAMMED behind me. The noise made me jump, and draw in my breath with surprise. And then...the horror ensued.

I was met with a stench profane enough to knock a pig off a shit truck at 500 yards. My gorge rose, and I staggered back as if punched, nearly losing my balance altogether. I heard splashing as I stumbled, and my terrified gaze was drawn down to the floor. I was standing in an inch plus of yellowish sneakers were partially immersed, and I could already feel the warmish liquid soaking into my socks. I opened my mouth to scream, but there was no sound.

I stood, frozen in terror, mouth agape, eyes bulging. It was a cold, dark night...I was alone, far from home...and I was standing ankle-deep in a giant puddle of punk-rocker piss, and god knows what else.

I couldn't run, or even move, for fear that the watery goop covering the floor would splash up and cover me with its oozing foulness. You know those nightmares where you're trying to escape from something that's chasing you, but your legs feel like cement and you can't get away? It was

Just then, the stall door at the far end of the bathroom banged open. I caught but a glimpse of the monster that emerged...easily six and a half feet tall, with bright blue hair and a preponderance of facial jewelry, it seemed to be adjusting something in its genital region. It looked up and met my eyes for the briefest of moments, and then rushed straight toward me.

Finally, the enormous scream stuck in my chest emerged, long and piercing. The monster was momentarily caught off guard and stopped in its tracks. My survival instinct kicked into full gear. I turned and ran, not even noticing the huge splashes of fetid glop stirred by my pounding footfalls. I threw open the door, bounded up the stairs, through the crowd, and straight out the door onto the street. After that, I remember very little. My friends, following my wet, smelly footprints, tell me that they found me some thirty minutes later, shivering in a doorway down the block. Evidently I was still wide-eyed and babbling, semi-coherent...All they could understand clearly was, "it's okay I can hold it...I can hold it...don't make me go in there..."

So if you ever have occasion to visit New York City, and you're inclined to come to CB's for a show...mark my words:

What did you expect, some scary encounter with my dead grandfather or something? Come on now...

Happy Halloween, chitlins!

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Baby, it's cold outside

Yeah, so it's officially cold. I've heard quite a bit of wonking lately, mostly from fellow single women concerned about spending the winter alone. That's crap. We, the happily unattached ladies in da house, have the clear advantage this season. I created the following list for you non-believers...

Best Things About Being a Single Girl When it's Cold Outside:

  1. Flannel Winnie the Pooh jammies, ancient sweatshirt with toothpaste stain on front, and socks in bed: totally acceptable.

  2. No need for razors and shave gel. Money saved goes toward new sweaters.

  3. Boobs look fucking spectacular in sweaters. (not sure how this is relevant to singlehood, but it is a solid fact nonetheless.)

  4. No one around to say, "Don't you have enough sweaters?" (As if that's possible. Psssh.)

  5. Cats under covers: totally acceptable.

  6. Never having to say, "They're hard because I'm cold, not because I want you. Stop touching them. Ow! Asshole!"

  7. Knowledge of winter flab accrual is ours, and ours alone.

  8. Masturbation = the ultimate handwarmer.

  9. Bed warmed by electric blanket, rather than purposely executed boyfarts (or other-girlfarts, as the case may be. All of this applies equally to my lebanese sisters.)

  10. Careful studying of and multiple changes to scarf-hat-coat-handbag ensemble prior to leaving apartment = totally acceptable.

  11. Vibrator never, ever puts his/her cold feet on you for his/her own amusement.

Feel free to contribute relevant items as you see fit.
And yes, I forgive you for doubting me.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Shiver me titters

It's too cold in this fucking office for me to let go of my hot teacup for long enough to type anything of substance. I have a pressing concern that my nipples may in fact snap right off and land in my tea at any moment, so I'm not even gonna try to be funny today. Besides, I think The Post Show pretty well cornered the market on funny this week. Bob Ross lives, bitches.

And R.I.P. Rosa Parks, who helped change the course of history. But you know, I still love this song, and I don't think they meant no disrespekt.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Float like a butterfly, drop like a rock

So today I'm walking west on 51st Street when out of nowhere, I sorta fall drunkenly off my shoes, barely managing to catch myself without full-on faceplanting on the sidewalk. Takes me a second, but I get going again, and even manage to shut out the snarky comment made by the street vendor who witnessed.

Two problems with this:

1. For once, I was sober.
2. I'm wearing flats.

Sometimes I'm so cool, I intimidate myself.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

You are my fire

Not too many things make me happier than sleeping for 12+ hours does.

A few things do. Pizza, for example. The criminal prosecution of Tom DeLay comes close. And, of course, there's this. (Thanks Will.)

I love Saturdays.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Freedom Tastes of Reality

Exactly one year ago, two vital events in my life occurred on the same day:

1. I finally dumped The Douche, thereby abruptly and permanently halting his persistent efforts to ruin my life, and

2. I saw Team America for the first time.

Oh, the irony.

Both events changed and improved me immeasurably, albeit in slightly different ways. In the last year, I've come to embrace my personal freedom, much as all the world's citizens were forced to in TA. That freedom cost me a fuck of a lot more than a buck-o-five, but it's the best investment I've ever made.

One of these days, one of these boys will finally pin me down, and we'll fall in love and have mad crazy puppet sex. But for now, I'm thoroughly happy with this version of reality.

America, fuck yeah!

Thursday, October 20, 2005


The virtual red pen has been busted out and applied fairly liberally to yesterday's post...


  • Mishka is playing, I mean BY...himself on his current tour. Thus, non-NY kids will have to wait a bit to see Beat the Devil live. Mishka's complete tour schedule is here.

  • Tris McCall and the New Jack Trippers are playing Rothko on Saturday along with the Giraffes. Tris is, in fact, a Super Genius. All the more reason for you to show up, get wasted, and act like an idiot. That's my plan, anyway. But you knew that.

  • The next WYSIWYG is this coming Tuesday, October 25. Buy your tickets in advance. Much blogger rockness will ensue.

  • The new season of South Park starts tonight! (Read: don't expect me to leave the house on Wednesday nights for awhile.)

In other news, guess who got turned down for an awesome job today for being "too energetic" to work for an aged Chairman? Yes, that would be yours truly. I stayed out until 1 AM and skipped the coffee this morning, even, to avoid that very problem. Anybody got quaaludes? Sigh...

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Big Pimpin'

Whew...if I weren't already feeling much better today, the 60 or so cups of coffee I've ingested so far would have fixed me right up. Since I'm now nearly as incapable of coherent thought today as I was yesterday, I'll just give you a rundown of some shows you oughta be attending in the next few days...

  • Tonight, NYC peeps can catch Drag Citizen at the Delancey (see DC's site for details...I can barely type here, fingers shaking, not pretty...) They're on tomorrow night at Snitch, too. A double dose of hot glam action. Woooo!

  • Denver kids are in luck tonight as well...Mishka, I mean Shubaly's new band, Beat the Devil, is playing the Larimer Lounge. This Brooklyn act is quite the departure from Mishka's Johnny-Cash-cum-Tom-Waites style of depressive guitar-fueled crooning. I'm a fan of both the old and the new. Highly recommended. They're also playing tomorrow night at Hi Dive (formerly Seven South), for those of you who still refuse to do my immediate bidding by attending this evening.

  • If you don't already love the Giraffes, your opportunity to understand why I do is right here. Make sure you watch the video, rather than just reading the crappy blurb. (And yes, Damien is like that all.the.time.) Come see them (and me!) this Saturday, 10/22, at Rothko. They should have some wonderful (read: gross and disturbing) stories to share from their recent tour.

And now, I'm off to the Ranger game with awesome Coco. I'm hoping the obligatory hockey nachos will soak up some of this caffeine before I have a full-blown seizure. You may want to watch the news, in case they don't. Werd.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Who needs street drugs?

Hoo-wah, not this 98-pound sack-o-crap right here, I tell you whut.

After a close encounter with an as-yet unidentified insect left me looking like Amanda LePore's ugly midget sister, did I turn to the crackman across the hall to ease my pain? No sir-ree. I went over-the-counter style. That's right...Benadryl, baby. The Big B.

Unless you're from West Virginia and/or grew up next to a nuclear power plant, you know you're fuckered up when you're counting your fingers and you get to 13.

It's probably a good thing that my hangover-the-counter is so godawful today. Like I need another vice.

That said, I have some extras if anyone's hard up for a cheap buzz.

Update, 4:51 PM, and yes, this actually happened:
A kind co-worker, observing my bleary state, asked, "What medication did you take yesterday?"

"Six," I answered.

I'm going home now.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Hot love in the wintertime

So many birthdays in October...those cold winter months are clearly good for something. (Considering that my latest date came closer to getting a fat lip than he did getting into my britches, my winter's not looking so good. Sigh...)

But I digress...what I meant to say was, happy b-day to both Mr. Licious and my momma (who, thankfully, does not read this crap.)

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Love at first glurk

Prospective Date (PD) and I, engaged in a conversation about (of all things) gnocchi.

Me: Nothing worse than pasty gnocchi.

PD: Aw, man...pasty, doughy balls. Reminds me of my grandfather.

Me: ...

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a china pattern to select.

Friday, October 14, 2005

He's so Fine...

Say happy birthday to Jared, whydontcha.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Today's Specials

Believe it or not, there's some stuff I don't hate.

To prove it, here's my "Best Of" list (best of, like today, anyway):

Best New Book
Life's Little Annoyances
Right up my alley, baby.

Best New Blog
Bomb of the Day
I love Kasey, and not just because she's more trouble than I am. (She also has a great ass.)

Best Bar in the Fuckin' Universe
Jimmy Duff is the nice man that drove Dave and me to another bar in his hearse. 'Nuff said.

Best New Band (new to me, anyway)
Jessie Diamond and the Thousand
I saw them at Trash Bar a couple of weeks ago, and was ready to dismiss this blonde slip of a girl, with her mullet and her flapper dress, as yet another Karen O wannabe. But damn, she can sing. And damn, they write good songs. Least shitty band I've seen at Trash since the last time Drag Citizen played there.

Best Biographical Movie, Maybe Ever
I loved Philip Seymour Hoffman before I saw this film. Now I'm pretty sure he's taken Edward Norton's place as the Actor of My Generation. If he doesn't win the Best Actor award, god as my witness I'll never attend a gay Oscar party again.

Best Rapper Name, Ever EVER
That would be Ludakrishna.
This one also gets Honorable Mention for Best Rap Video Ever. If it weren't for Outkast, these guys would be the big winners.

There you go. Back to the impotent vitriol tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Know what's awesomer?

What's awesomer is being such a self-absorbed, big city shithead that you post about your boogers, rather than making note that today marks a sad anniversary which it is critical, for so many reasons, not to forget.

Know what's awesome?

What's awesome is getting decently gussied up for work, good hair day included, exchanging glances with handsome strangers during a rainy hour-long commute, traipsing confidently into the office, checking your makeup...and discovering that there happens to be an enormous booger dangling with glaring obviousness from your left nostril.

Yeah, boys, single and available, RIGHT HERE!
You know you want this!


Monday, October 10, 2005

My booty lies over the ocean...

I Wonder Mondays were borne of my tendency to start the week in a state of drooling idiocy. Since all I could do was wonder about random shit, I decided thus to spew it forth, sharing my stupidity with you, my loving reader(s). Now that I Wonder Mondays have officially jumped the shark and I'm still completely 'tarded out, I have not much to contribute.

So today, in the interest of keeping everyone entertained with minimal effort on my part, I'm turning the forum over to you with a question that was recently raised by an acquaintance of mine:

How far would you go for a booty call? (And by "how far," I'm referring to physical distance and/or methods of, um...procurement.)

If you've gone to great measures and/or trodden many miles to get a hot piece of sookie-sookie action, kindly share.

And don't you worry...Helen takes anonymous comments, so your mama won't find out what a slut you are. (Because you know she reads this.)

Ready, go.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Breakfast at Perge Modo's

Living in New York provides one with substantially increased odds of suprise celebrity encounters. I've certainly had my share. There was the now semi-infamous Tommy Lee incident, and the lovely conversation with Dan Aykroyd over Jack & Cokes. I keep having run-ins with Moby that lead me to believe we have some sort of shared destiny. (Or that we both, you know, live in the same city, or something.) And of course, I've heard scads of great starfucker stories from fellow New Yorkers in my time. These famous people, they seem to be everywhere.

Best brush-with-greatness story I've ever heard, though, is (unsurprisingly) right here.

Philip Seymour Hoffman lives on Coco's block. When I finally upon meeting him, at least now I'll have something relevant to discuss.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

So, wait a minute...

Harry's queer, and Tom's not?

I haven't been this confused since I found out Sandy Duncan's actually a woman.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Ease on Down the Road...

Nipsey Russell
1924 - 2005
This is a serious drag. Not only was this guy old-OLD-school funny...but is there anyone else left on the planet named "Nipsey"?
I think not.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Size ain't everything

Number one thing I never thought I'd hear myself say to my boss:

"Oh my GOD! That thing is HUGE!"

And yet, not five minutes ago...

Based on that, you'd think I like my job. Actually, though...not so much.

(And, for the record, he was showing me photos from his fishing trip. Fuckin' pervos.)

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Who's the big winner?

Not to be an asshole or anything...but whatever or whoever you did last night, no matter how much fun you had, I promise you that my night was better.

See, there are only two people on the planet who were dropped off at their bar of choice in a customized Cadillac hearse with a disco ball and a condom dispenser in the back, driven by the owner of the bar in which they'd just gotten completely hammered. There's Dave, and there's me.

So yeah, sorry, all y'all, but we win.
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