Monday, October 31, 2005

Shameful Shoe Monday

Happy Halloween! Or whatever. I had completely forgotten it was Halloween until I walked into the office this morning and was confronted by one of my coworkers dressed as......well, frankly, I'm not sure. The costume reminds me vaguely of Strawberry Shortcake (that's a character name, right? Not just a dessert?) but it's mostly orange. And there's a green hat. With a wig. An orange wig. It's very confusing. Hey, remember when our parents used to cut our candy into little slices before we could eat it to make sure there were no razor blades in it? And it turned out later to be an urban myth? Well, that's ONE way to scare the crap out of yourself on Halloween. Another way, this year, is to turn on the news this morning. I don't know about you guys, but I have a feeling that Harriet Miers was just the only woman stupid enough to be willing to take one for Team Bush. Raise your hand if you think her resignation letter was written before her nomination was even announced. Now Bush has nominated his token woman (who just happened to be so unqualified that both parties were like, "huh? are you fucking kidding us with this shit?") and now he's free to nominate Antonin Scalia's Mini-Me, Samul Alito. Or, as he is casually referred to, "Scalito." A THIRD way to scare the crap out of yourself this Halloween is to take a look at these shoes which are entered as the second installment of our new weekly tradition, Shameful Shoe Monday. Like many women, I get blisters on my feet from walking around the city in my fancy shmancy shoes. There is also a thing I have heard of called a "corn," though I've never had one that didn't come from a cob. (And as an aside, since when did "cob" become a dirty word? I can't say or think "cob" without also saying or thinking "cobhole" which is just wrong.) This shoe has strategically placed holes for all of the most unattractive bits of your feet to peek through and get some goddamn AIR already. And to highlight the ugly foot bits, the designer has chosen the ugliest color imaginable. This green makes every shade of skin look cadaverous, without exception, and should be banned. Except for zombies. They can wear it - they're already dead anyway. Once, when I was little, my parents broke down and let me go to the Ice Capades with my friend Bree. They sucked. I wonder if they wear this kind of crap on their downtime too. They should. Then we could recognize their Wonder-Twin-esque outfits on the street and punch them in the kidneys for sucking. Gah!! Don't look!! This shoe was shot in the lower abdomen during a convenience store hold-up and it's intestines are spilling out all over the floor! (Although, if you have a strong stomach, this is an interesting opportunity to check out where shoe sausage comes from.) I learned this equation in my high school home ec class: Shoe + Flickety Tabs + Nail Gun + Lime Green = Bad Idea It's like the quadratic formula - everyone learns it, like, sophomore year. Perhaps this shoe designer never made it to high school? And finally for today, I present you with the footwear equivalent of my great-grandmother, Dottie, who died a couple of years ago at the very respectable age of 97. Feel free to get last minute questions in. Answers will be in tomorrow's post. And if you dressed up today, please tell us what you dressed up as. Happy Hallowha??

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Friday, October 28, 2005

Search for the White Myth

Oh, hello. Sorry for the long silence. The reason you haven't seen much of me lately is........oh my god, you are all going to think I'm an utter lunatic. Which I am. When it comes to certain things. Sometimes I wish I could just go live in the woods and meditate and cook a lot and never need anything ever. I'd make my own clothes out of, you know, hemp or whatever. I'd learn Kung Fu and like a zillion polenta recipes. I'd have a cute little house in the wilderness with rosebushes and shit. But I can't do that. I'm caught in society's web and I'm never, ever getting out. You know what I am? I'm a consumer. A rabid, teeth-gnashing, hair-ripping consumer. Or, more accurately at the mo, I'm a hunter. And right now my quarry is a WHITE WINTER COAT. I am completely obsessed, people. OBSESSED. All I've done for three days is look for the perfect white coat. I want cashmere. I want A-line. I want....something I can't pinpoint!! All I know is that I haven't fucking found it yet and it's driving me UP THE MOTHERFUCKING WALL. Does the perfect white coat even exist? I'm starting to wonder if it's a myth. The great white hope/whale/rabbit/shark.... I hate these women. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate them. Where's my fucking coat, bitches??!! You are USELESS!!! Oh, I almost forgot, some people had questions. Mandy, those boots are GREEN. Greeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen. They are made by Sam Edelman and they retail for $232. I didn't end up buying them because I, uh.......already have green high heels. Snakeskin, actually. Kate, you asked how to store your shoes. I generally prefer to store my shoes in a sort of tornado formation, in which they are scattered about my room like the wreckage of a trailer home after it gets hit by one. You should not do this. I repeat, do NOT do this. I don't even know why I do it. Very mysterious. Anyway, I suggest one of those clear pocket shoe holders that you put on the back of your closet door. It keeps the dust off and you don't have to hunt through a pile of shoe bags or boxes to get the ones you want because you can see them through the plastic. And now I am inspired to take a page from Bunsen's book and offer to answer any questions you may have about my various areas of expertise. Namely sleeping and pooping and buying shoes. But you can ask any question you want about anything at all and I will do my best to answer it in my next post. I might even try to be witty. Good show!

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Wednesday, October 26, 2005

What?

What? Stop staring at me. What are you even looking at? Quit it. I had a big breakfast. IS THAT OK WITH YOU? Today I am going to watch the last two episodes of the first season of "Lost." I don't know about anyone else, but my favorite character on the show is Hurley, the fat guy. He's sweet and funny and jiggly and says "Dude!" all the time. I want my own Hurley. Everyone should have one. Hurleys are comforting. Jovial. And strangely insightful. My only problem is, HE SHOULD HAVE LOST WEIGHT BY NOW. In every episode, he is just as fat as he was in the last episode. Um, excuse me, but he's living on guava and papaya and didn't he mention something about having some serious gastrointestinal distress? After a month of that, he should have lost, oh I don't know, a third of himself? If I was stranded on a desert island, eating fucking fruit all day and shitting like a champion, I'd be the size of a Sharpie. He's clearly still getting McCarbohydrates every day from craft services on the set. I mean, I don't want to be rude, but someone should put that motherfucker on a diet. I am so caught up in this show, it is sick and sad. And if anyone spoils anything or reveals anything in comments they will be BANNED FOREVER AND EVER I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. The cool thing is, my friend informed me yesterday that once I have finished Season 1, I can download all the episodes I missed from Season 2 through iTunes!! YA!! ........... From "Overheard in New York:" Drunk girl: I love scrotum! Guy: Dude, we should completely ask her to come home with us. --10th & Broadway Overheard by: danie

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Monday, October 24, 2005

Shameful Shoe Gallery.

We begin the week with some of the worst shoe designs I could find for your viewing pleasure. Many shoes are ugly because they are just plain. They don't do anything. They have no pizzazz. You look at them and don't even see them or you look at them and think, I hope I never wind up wearing foot-turds like that, no matter how old I get. The shoes in the Shameful Shoe Gallery are not that type of ugly. They are the type of ugly that wants to be noticed. They scream, "Look at me!! I exist to offend you!!" These are not foot-turds, oh no. These are FOOT CRIMES. What follows is only the tiniest, miniscule fraction of what is out there. We could do posts like this all week and never even scratch the tip of the iceberg. Ok. Say, in some fit of, I don't know, epilepsy or something, you decided to buy this shoe. Issue #1: how does one prevent oneself from taking a steak knife to that horrible black leather lump on the toe? What IS that thing? I believe it's supposed to be a rose but it looks more like a lung specimen from a dead coal miner. This shoe wants you to seduce it (with the cute little hearts and everything) and it's idea of seduction is a lump of black lung? Mmmmmmmmmmm.......sexy!! I HATE this trend. The three buckle toe box. Why? Why?? Is the shoe so poorly made that it will fly apart if not held together with cheap-looking, yellow plastic buckles? This is not an accent. It's a cry for help. In case you're wondering, the cry goes like this, "Help! Help! They think I'm crazy and they put me in this straightjacket and MY HEEL ITCHES SO BAD!!!" Imagine your foot in this strappy, sexy shoe. Now imagine a giant scorpion sitting on top of your foot and chewing on your ankle. See the difference? Me neither. Hey, check it out! It's Elmo's new girlfriend, Shoemo! Actually, it's more like a "friends with benefits" type thing but he hasn't really clarified that with her yet. Shoemo is just as high-pitched and demonic as Elmo is except she doesn't laugh when you tickle her. Can you help Shoemo? She's lost her way and can't find Sesame Street. If you put her on your foot and walk her back home, she'll reward you by making you look like a complete asshole the whole way there. Yay!! You know, I actually almost like this shoe. It would be pretty cute if that Shar-Pei wasn't taking a nap on the toe. Give that dog a chew toy and see if it will go sleep on someone else's foot. Nothing says no-class-havin' muthafucka like a giant fuzzy flower thing and a lucite heel. As Chris Rock says, "I haven't heard of a college that takes dollar bills. I haven't seen any clear heels in biology. I haven't ever gotten a smart lap dance!" That's right, folks, if you're wearing these shoes, you are no stranger to sticking your muff in some dude's face for cash. Hannibal Lecter is BORED. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. In his spare time, which is basically all of his time when he's not cooking up beans and attending wine tastings, he designs shoes. Here is his first creation. Mariah Carey has already bought 17 pairs which constitutes, like, a whole entire person. Hahaha!! Fooled you! These aren't actually shoes, they're crawfish traps!! Oh, this poor shoe. This shoe deserves our pity far more than our disdain. First there is the identity crisis. Is it a sneaker? Is it a dress shoe? Is it a blood worm? And then there is the most unfortunate thing of all - it has a tapeworm! Now wonder it's been having so much trouble gaining weight!! I made these in art class when I was six. The next day I made a magic wand out of a popsicle stick, some macaroni, glitter and Elmer's glue. Aaaaaaaaaaand, I'm done.

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Friday, October 21, 2005

Election, 2005

Slothy needs new shoes. The candidates are: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1,2,3, Vote! (You can pick more than one. In fact, please pick more than one.) These boots below are not contenders because a) I hate the cowboy boot trend and can't wait for it to go away and b) even though they are marked down 40%, they're still $600. But I just had to put the picture up because they're kinda kicky, eh? I think tomorrow I'll put up some of the ugliest shoes I can find on the internet. Some of the styles are so stomach-curdling, they simply MUST be shared.

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Thursday, October 20, 2005

A Slothful Weekend

Today my boyfriend leaves to go "on tour" with his "band." Luckily for me this "tour" only lasts a few days and when told they would be driving the "van" back from Chicago, he said "fuck that" and bought a plane ticket home. So I will be getting my slothful ass up early on Sunday because I personally feel there is nothing worse than arriving at the airport and having no one to meet you there. That is a SUCK-ASS feeling. I HATE that feeling. My boyfriend will never have to feel that feeling unless I am in traction or dying of ebola. Let me tell you a little about the members of this band. I don't know them very well, but well enough to paint broad caricatures. The lead singer is built like a log. He's a perfect cylinder, neither fat nor thin, and if he didn't sway around and prance so much he'd make a perfect piling for a very low dock. His mouth is always smiling, even when the rest of his face isn't, and to be honest it's not so much a smile as it is a general teeth-on-display type of thing. When he speaks he sort of has to talk around his teeth. He pings on the gaydar, but I think it's because of the prancing. From all accounts he's straight. The guitarist is a skinny 40-year-old with big, spiky black hair and a penchant for leather pants and wrist cuffs. He lives in an apartment with two other guys which, at 40, strikes me as a little pathetic. I feel bad saying that, because he's really nice but do you think he has a girlfriend? If you said "NO" then give yourself a pat on the back. The backup vocal singer is a helium balloon with blonde hair and big droopy boobs. I know this because she seems to have a thing against bras so I've met her boobs personally. They are smarter than she is. In her defense, she's only 20. I was pretty stupid when I was 20 too. She has Molly Ringwald lips and big, vacant eyes and boy, she just couldn't be friendlier. She'll probably end up on the Supreme Court someday. The keyboard player is a small, round Asian girl who hasn't really learned any of the songs yet. The one time I met her she was completely shitfaced so it's possible that my impression of a tiny, giggling Oompa Loompa with fashionable glasses and waaaaaaaaaaay too much energy is a little off. Wow, she's really super duper friendly though!!!!!!!!! Suffice to say, after five seconds I wanted to smother her with a pile of bar napkins. They were in my hand, but she wouldn't hold still. And then there is my boyfriend, the unbelievably good-looking, blonde 6'2" guy who plays drums and who FINALLY has a nickname. My friends and I have decided to call him The Den for reasons that shall remain a mystery to you. Unless you figure them out, which would be fine. I really don't care. Have a LOVELY Thursday, everyone. From what I understand, you'll all be in various states of undress. I still haven't quite grasped the concept but if you'll take a look at the above picture you'll notice that I am completely and utterly nekkid. Weeee!!

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Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Blaaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhh!!!

Please see above. *Update* Well, at least I'm wearing cute shoes. They are slowly but surely improving my day every time I glance down and see PINK!!

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Monday, October 17, 2005

Monday Minis

I took this odd (read: loser) picture of myself when I got to work this morning to illustrate the fact that..... IT IS HAT WEATHER!!!!!!! Weeeeeeee!!!!!!!! I love the fall!! I am wearing my long leather jacket and my new hat with, though you can't see it in this photo, FUZZY POM-POM on top!! I bought the hat in a consignment shop in August when it was about twelve-hundred degrees outside and my mother totally made fun of me for buying it. And how many degrees is it outside now? Hmm?? Fifty!! That's right!! Ha!! Ok, so a couple things. First, thanks for all the well-wishes. My near-death exhaustion was, as it turned out, hormonal. I went home early, fell asleep at three in the afternoon and thankfully woke up when I was only half-way across the River Styx, with the worst.cramps.ever. Second, see that iPod thing over there in the sidebar? That is totally for real, people. It's a pyramid scheme where you get people to sign up for a thing and the referral counts as points for you. Get enough points and I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING, you will get an iPod. I have proof in the form of someone I know who, I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING, got an iPod this way. My mini just died on me and, as I explained to someone who I can't remember now, I am merely a husk of my former self without it. I signed up for the Blockbuster movie rental thingamabob, rented the entire first season of "Lost" which I haven't seen (no spoilers, please) and after I watch it I'm going to cancel my subscription because, duh! I already have Netflix like everyone else in the free world! Third, I just ate a Krispy Kreme doughnut so expect Hell to freeze over any minute now. Fourth, I did NOT go bowling because one of our bowling partners woke up with swollen eye a la Ahnold Schwarzenegger in "Total Recall." No depth perception = no bowling. Personally, I suspect that they just didn't feel like going anywhere on a crispy Sunday on which the wind was blowing so hard that branches were flying off of trees and babies and kittens were being sucked up into the atmosphere and, really, who can blame them? A WIND ADVISORY?? For the city?? I stayed in bed and read a trashy murder mystery all day. So far the chief medical examiner's ex-boyfriend is my main suspect, but that's all I'll say. That's it! Now go get me an iPod. IN FACT, if you sign up for something and give me my iPod points, I'll send you a free 5x7 of any of the photos in the Slothville gallery. It's called INCENTIVE, people! Make it happen!!

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Friday, October 14, 2005

Extra Slothful Sloth

Ohmygod. Ihaveneverbeensotiredinmywholelife. Sosososososososotiiiiiiiired. It's that kind of tired when just trying to keep your eyes open gives you a headache. Last night I slept for eight hours and woke up in the exact same position I fell asleep in. My right ear has been molded to my skull and my boobs now point permanently at my right shoulder. I really, honestly, need another eight hours of sleep, preferably lying on my other side to even things out. In class last night I was so tired that I was actually, literally hallucinating. I kept thinking there was someone standing in front of me but there wasn't. And then the piano would do a little wiggle dance until I realized it wasn't a piano at all, it was a cabinet sort of thing and it wasn't dancing but it was at least oozing across the floor. I'm not kidding - I was actually seeing things that weren't there. The fact that it has now rained for eight days in a row cannot be helping this situation. I haven't seen the sun in over a week. The only glimmer of joy I can find in the world at the moment is that "The Simple Life" has been cancelled and these two useless whores are back on the street where they belong, selling their asses for crack. Ahhhhhh.....what would life be without people to pity?

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Thursday, October 13, 2005

Short Shorts

Ok, first of all, what the fuck happened to Lori Petty? She used to be a nice, pretty alive person. Now she's a re-animated cadaver. If she's dying of a terminal illness, well, I fucking apologize, ok? I hope she's not. But if she's not dying, what IS she doing? Second of all, I thought you all should be aware, in case you did not already know, that JEWS RULE THE WORLD. (According to the Haitian cabbie who drove me to work this morning, anyway.) I just want to say, Michael....Gooch.....you coulda told us. Third, I am going BOWLING this weekend. SLOTHS LOVE BOWLING WITH A SCARY FANATICISM. Unfortunately, this sloth lives in Boston so bowling opportunities are hard to come by. There's always some stupid lecture or museum or dive bar that requires my attention. You see, you can't DRINK while you BOWL here. Ok, I know some of you are picking yourselves up off the floor now. Take your time. Yes, that is correct. Bowling alleys are dry in Boston. Sick, evil, and twisted as that is, you have to remember that the city was founded by Puritans. Blowjobs are still illegal here too. As a Mainer, I grew up with candlepin bowling. Candlepin be muthafuckin' HARD, yo. This is why I so enjoy FAT pin bowling. The pins are fat, the balls are fat.....basically, both the target and the projectile are larger and therefore the game is necessarily easier. Regardless, for me, bowling is like put-put. I suck at it, but I love it anyway. So, in conclusion: I would like to apologize to Lori Petty who is clearly carrying a virulent strain of TB. I would also like to apologize to my fellow non-world-ruling gentiles - I should have picked up on that whole "Jewish = evil genius" thing earlier. And finally, a big fat apology to whoever ends up on my team this weekend. I'm sorry, we're going to lose, and all I can hope for is that you are graceful in defeat.

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Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Boobleaguered Sloth

I did not wear the green dress because of these: I put the green dress on, registered the fabulousness of it in the mirror, walked into the living room to model it for my roommate and got this: "Um, sweetie..........not wedding appropriate." Fine!!! Whatever the fuck!!! Today I am wearing these shoes and for that reason alone I am feeling pretty good. Do you see why shoes are muy important?? Do you SEE?? It is gray and gross and cold out, but my feet are making everyone's day better because they are so delightful. From "Overheard in the Office:"

HR Manager: Hey guys, I'm starting a new club in the office. Do you want to join?

Employee: Um sure, what kind of club is it?

HR Manager: It's a club for people with Wham!'s song "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" stuck in their heads. Congratulations, you are all now members!

85 E Street South Portland, Maine

Overheard by: Brian Brinegar

Only in my home state...

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Friday, October 07, 2005

Happy Genocide Day!

Jalapeno, Farmers Market, Portland, Maine, Labor Day weekend '05. Green! Green! Root for GREEN!! Ok, a few updates for you before this lovely long weekend that is going to be rudely interrupted by a wedding I have to go to. I haven't decided whether to wear my sexy GREEN ruffle dress with silver shoes and purse or go more conservative with a (sigh) suit from Ann Taylor. My mother seems overly worried that I'm going to wear something too fabulous and make a spectacle of myself. I mean, I know you're not supposed to upstage the bride, but no one every really does, right? Come on, she's THE BRIDE. How do you upstage the chick in the white dress? I don't get it. And yes, the green dress *may* require some double-sided sticky tape but if I don't wear it tomorrow then when?? WHEN??? It's OCTOBER. It's 80 degrees out today but it's supposed to be in the 50's on Monday. The season of the green dress is coming to an end AND I HAVEN'T EVEN WORN IT YET. Gahhh!! Ok, on to the updates. 1. Michelle Collins has rabies. Yes, that is correct. RABIES. RAYYYYY-BEEEEEEEEES. How did she get rabies? A dog bit her on the ass. The only other person I can imagine this happening to is Pete. Because Michelle is Michelle, she is being rather cavalier about the whole thing, even suggesting a "Rabies! the Musical" but I have to give her huge credit for even thinking, "Hey, I might have rabies..." in the first place. I mean, yes, she was bitten by a dog, and yes she wasn't feeling well and had a cough, but PLEASE. Even if a fucking raccoon ate off half my face I would have to be foaming at the mouth and stabbing my roommate with a chopstick before it would occur to me that I might have RABIES. So, props to Michelle for ignoring all the medical advice she was given and going in for her shots. 2. As you may or may not have noticed, I missed the first two weeks of school so that I could lay on a beach reading trashy murder mysteries and getting a tan. I went to my first Folklore and Mythology class last night and I LOVE IT. I love it for one specific reason. My professor is obsessed with Jack Chick. !!! I! Am also! Obsessed with Jack Chick!! Jack is so mind-blowingly insane that even though he's an evangelical fundamentalist, he has tipped over into the cool category. Pat Robertson: not-cool. Jack Chick: COOLEST MOTHERFUCKER EVER. Except, maybe, for Joe Bob. Joe Bob could be cooler. 3. Do you recall how I was forced to bitch-slap Heath Ledger for whining like a sissy baby about having to suck face with Jake Gyllenhaal in "Brokeback Mountain?" Well, my vindication (and my hopeless obsession with our doe-eyed, Dr.-Sunken-Tits-loving thespian) is now complete. Jake, as it turns out, wasn't put off by the hot cowboy-on-cowboy action at all, because he's an ACTOR. Someone should let Heath Ledger know how that whole "acting" thing works. Wanker. And.......I believe three makes a list, eh? All of you have a happy and safe long weekend during which we celebrate the mass genocide of an entire race of people on our own soil. Ciao!!

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Thursday, October 06, 2005

Rise and Shine!

And we're walking.....we're walking...... Now, if you'll look straight ahead you'll see the sun rising over the ocean. It does that every single day. Like clockwork! Isn't nature amazing? And now, if you'll take a look to your right you'll see a completely empty beach. Yes, it's dawn right now, but it's pretty much going to stay that way all day. Now look to your left and you'll see....more empty beach!! Ok, now look down at your feet. Is it a flying saucer? Is it a piece of glass? Is it a puddle? Is it Superman? No! It's a jellyfish! No touching! Now back to bed.

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Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Trouble With A Capital "T"

You like that? Fashion forward! In case you can't tell, the button on those shorts is undone. Took this photo at Oregon Inlet. Our last night on the Outer Banks, my uncle and I went to a restaurant named the Jolly Roger. This place is not what one might describe as staid. At the entrance to the parking lot is a parachute-sized sign that says WELCOME BIKERS, there are hundreds of shiny Christmas ornaments hanging from the foil-covered ceiling in the dining room, one of their "vegetable" options on the menu is mac and cheese and the locals gather in the adjacent room every night for karaoke. Tourist season is over, man. What else is there to do? Over the years my uncle and I have grown very fond of the Jolly Roger for a couple of reasons. One, they make a fucking killer veal parmesan. Two, it's the biggest freak show on the Outer Banks. After finishing our tortured baby cow meat we always head over to the karaoke section of the restaurant to ogle the local flavor. Mullets abound. Acid washed jeans scissor back and forth, "wisk, wisk, wisk..." Big hair, menthol cigarettes, and country music. It's a good time. On this particular evening I was wearing a pretty fabulous outfit - black and white flared skirt, tiny black t-shirt, slingback heels and pigtails. Feeling confident and voyeuristic. A little old round lady was singing "The Rythm is Gonna Get You" by Gloria Estefan for the second time when Danielle walked in. I didn't know her name was Danielle at the time. What I did know, in that way that women sometimes have a sense about each other right off the bat, was that she was Trouble. My first thought was, "Wow, that girl is really damaged." My second thought was, "That damaged girl is going to come over here and talk to me." I was right on both counts. Danielle was really attractive, but it seemed like she didn't quite know how to put herself together. She was younger than me but looked a little older because of years spent in the sun - her skin was the color of caramel. Her hair was in braided pigtails and she was wearing a halter top, a mini skirt and....boxer briefs. The Tommy Hilfiger logo on the boxers could be seen clearly above the waist band of the skirt. Oh, and she was covered in tattoos. My sense of her was of a girl who wanted to be tough as nails but pretty and feminine too and she was having a hard time reconciling the two. She had a friend there - a guy who was totally hot and totally bad news and who had totally hit on me about three seconds before she walked in. So she walked right over to where I was standing and before you could say "molested as a child" she was showing me a huge scar on her arm that she had acquired while working a gill-netter. This progressed quickly to an earnest confession that her nipples were pierced. You can see where this is going. I was drunk enough to be fascinated with the nipple piercing so I asked her if it hurt. I don't remember her answer because at the same time that she was talking she was making me pinch her nipple. With the ring in it. In the bar. It was at this point that a lot of people starting watching us. She then turned toward the wall and pulled her tank top over to the side so I could peek at the piercing. Still drunk and fascinated, I stuck my face right in there for a good look. I said, "Are they both pierced?" I'm not sure what she said then because I was busy pinching her other nipple. It was, in fact, pierced. You can see where this is going. Before you could say "incest survivor" she was telling me about her clit piercing. As I may have mentioned, I was drunk. And fascinated. So I pinched that too and no one was watching the karaoke anymore. I sort of tugged on it and that made her laugh and then I asked her a billion or so questions about how much THAT piercing hurt and she explained that it's not the actual clitoris but the little hood over it that is pierced. I felt very much relieved at this new information. So we hung out for a couple of hours and my uncle, the psychiatrist, got dragged into the conversation. At some point I was whisked off to the dance floor by a very drunk middle aged guy until his wife busted it up by pointedly "apologizing" for her husband in a way that made me fear for my hairdo if not for my life. I scurried back to Danielle and my uncle and the totally hot, totally bad news guy and some other dude who I think was Danielle's boyfriend. He told me they were going to go smoke some coke and *bing!* it was time to go home. As my uncle and I walked to the car he told me that while I was dancing with the bad husband, "Danielle showed me her vagina!! There was a little rhinestone in it!!" Apparently, she had pulled up her skirt and pulled down her boxers right there in the bar to show my poor sixty-year-old uncle her clit ring. He seemed a little traumatized. I gently explained to him that "vagina" was really not the proper term for this sort of situation and offered him an alternative noun. "What's a cooter?" he asked. On the drive home he shook his head and said solemnly, "I could spend the rest of my career with Danielle as my only patient and she'd still be a total mess by the time I retired." Amen, brutha.

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Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Edible Brain Sloth

Well, I forgot my camera again today. My brain is not actually a brain but is instead a massive bolus of oatmeal. I think there might be some peanut butter in there too. If a zombie comes along and eats my oatmeal brain he may pleasantly surprised. Or disappointed, depending on what kind of zombie he is. Well, when he stops by I'll let him know ahead of time that I have an oatmeal brain and not the smooshy, bloody brain he may be expecting. I mean, if he doesn't like oatmeal anyway (or is allergic to peanuts) then I've saved him a lot of trouble. I didn't write a thing during my vacation. Nothing. Part of the problem was that I bought a hefty book called "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" right before I left and since it was 850 pages long I figured it would last me at least a week. I finished it Tuesday night. Really really good book. Anyway, the language of the book is this old fashioned, proper English in which people "shew" each other things instead of just showing them things and everyone speaks in this clipped, prim manner and I don't know if this ever happens to you, but try as I might, I couldn't stop thinking and talking the way the people in the book did. This always happens to me. After I read "Bridget Jones's Diary" the pronouns that normally reside comfortably in my vocabulary vanished for about two weeks. It was very embarrassing in hindsight, looking back and realizing that I had been writing in incomplete sentences and considering myself so fabulously witty the whole time. Well, after a week of dancing around like Rumpelstiltsken, pointing and laughing at Ophelia's slow-churning, pathetic attempt at being a storm, she decided to come up to Boston on the night I flew out and bitch-slap my dumb ass by delaying my flight for three hours. Lesson learned. Don't make fun of hurricanes because they might notice and come kick your butt. I started the book in the airport and after finishing the first two chapters I called my uncle to tell him that a sandwich I had just attempted to ingest at the airport lounge was "positively wretched." Regrettably, it was all downhill from there and hence I began to use words like "hence" and "regrettably." Since I was unable to retain any sort of grip on my own dialect I found myself unable to write until the problem passed. In the meantime, all sorts of things happened which I'll tell you about tomorrow. For the moment I fear I must end this post for it is tea time and tiny cucumber sandwiches await me in the parlor. Farewell! P.S. Yes, that last photo was chosen for its resemblance to a clitoris. The story will be hitting Slothville soon, just as soon as I find the words for it. They're somewhere in the oatmeal.

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Monday, October 03, 2005

Little Brown Sloth

It is waaaaay too cold here. Ok, I'm back. I have a killer tan and WOW, a lot of fucking emails to read. (I find it's best to break out the profanity ASAP.) I have a few stories to tell about fishing, karaoke, a newfound love of trashy novels and tugging on a complete stranger's clit piercing, but I really need to decompress and answer these FIFTEEN BILLION emails that are crowding my inbox. I'll post a couple of pictures tomorrow. None of them will be of the clit piercing. (This photo of some flowers in my parents' garden will have to suffice.) More later. If I can prevent myself from jumping out the window. The beach is still right there where I left it. What am I doing here?

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