Plotting

Have you, ever... EVER... had someone describe the plot of a porno movie to you???

It was funny shit.

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Of Literature

Or more specifically, of John Irving. Many years ago, I lived with a psychotic bitch woman who purported to adore Mr. Irving's writing. Being the accommodating soul that I am, I endeavored to read A Son of the Circus. I didn't care for it. Correction: I fucking HATED it. In fact, it was the one of the very few books I started and never finished (something I've become better at, but still struggle with). Based upon that experience, I subconsciously wrote off Mr. Irving's scribblings as any form of desired reading.

Last night, Suzanne and I watched "The Cider House Rules" on Bravo. After IMDbing the movie to discover who wrote the book, I naturally sniggered that Mr. Irving elected to name the main characters Wilbur and Homer. God, what a lame writer, I thought. The movie, and presumably Mr. Irving's book, cover abortion, adoption, infidelity, and incest.

The movie (and therefore presumably the book?) actually captured my attention. In my opinion, Tobey McGuire was far better in this movie than as Spider-Man. And what's not to like about Charlize Theron? (Well, aside from the blond hair, that is ;p). I watched every moment of the movie, despite the ridiculously frequent and lengthy commercial breaks. Despite the uncomfortable subject matters. Despite my continuing concerns that the outcome would ultimately suck because it was, after all, based upon a novel of John Irving.

I was wrong.

And just FYI, whilst perusing the various Google hits for Mr. Irving, I discovered he is also the author behind such theatrical (and, again presumably, literary) successes as The World According to Garp and A Prayer for Owen Meany.

I figure I owe him that much of a nod. As for reading those books, well, the jury's still out.

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Merry F'ing Christmas

Now this, THIS is a Christmas gift for lesbians.

Nice, eh? If for some crazy, ridiculous, idiotic reason that image doesn't appeal to you, try this one: it was a gift from Suzanne's sister, the former nun. And we opened it in front of her mother.

If that image does work for you, there are others. Enjoy.

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A Different Kind of Pod

I've spent a lot of time in recent weeks downloading MP3 files of my favorite songs. Yes, I'm late to the MP3 party, but I've been making up for lost time since being gifted with a cute little iPod shuffle of my own (she's a nice girlfriend, ya'll). I have to admit, I really like the organization and ease of use associated with Apple's iTunes. iTunes, however, must be downloaded and installed for use, and that's something I cannot do on my work computer. (I know; our IT department has WAY too much control.)

I also discovered that songs I purchase from iTunes are MP4 files, and it's a real bitch to successfully convert them in order to access them via any medium other than iTunes. While wending my way around these little obstacles (and also seeking less expensive alternatives), I came across this little graphic from emusic.com:

Fallopian Tubes, anybody? C'mon, it doesn't take a lesbian to see THAT.

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The Memory of Trees*

*Forgive the Enya reference. Yes, that's what that is. Stop laughing.

The problem with trees is they have leaves.

The problem with leaves is they fall.

The problem with fallen leaves is they inhibit the growth of grass. And make the yard look like crap.

The problem with fallen leaves in suburbia is one can not rake or blow the fuckers to the woods or whatever. One must break one's back bagging them.

One must get off her ass and go deal with the leaves.

Ah well, at least it isn't so damned cold today.

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Crafty

Okay, so it's been a lame week for posting here at Wannabe. Sue me. In lieu of my usual oh-so-meaningful and well-crafted bullshit, however, I offer this:



I know some of ya'll can relate.

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Of Small-town Learnin'... Or Good Guesswork

Snagged from Sassy:

You paid attention during 91% of high school!

85-100% You must be an autodidact, because American high schools don't get scores that high! Good show, old chap!

Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz

But, as often happens, I couldn't stop with just one...
Terns owt eye no mai grammar.

Your Language Arts Grade: 100%

Way to go! You know not to trust the MS Grammar Check and you know "no" from "know." Now, go forth and spread the good word (or at least, the proper use of apostrophes).

Are You Gooder at Grammar?
Make a Quiz

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Just Another Day in the Office

One of the (female, slutty) people with disabilities whom my agency serves was in the office today. Specifically, she was in the office next to mine, meeting with her case manager. One of my other (male, cute) staff happened to stop in to ask a question.

PwD: Do you have a girlfriend?

Staff: Uh. Yes. Yes, I have many acquaintances that are female. [pause] Um, do you mean a special someone...?

PwD: I mean someone you have sex with.

He bolted. Fortunately, she didn't chase him.

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No Secret?

Commercial Announcer: Up next, the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show*, with special appearance by Justin Timberlake.
Suz: I don't want to watch that.
Wen: WHAT?
Suz: Justin Timberlake, I mean. Women in sexy underwear, I'm okay with.

*Sorry, ladies (and dudes), this was TUESDAY night.

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Playing with Dolls

Okay... maybe this isn't news to some of you (hi, Sassy!), but I haven't paid much attention to Barbie in the last thirty years or so. I had heard of the existence of an African American Barbie, but I either never saw or never absorbed the actual product:


Um, she's supposed to be black? Funny, she kinda reminds me of this Hawaiian chick from Season 3 of American Idol (2004).


And then there's this Barbie, apparently named the Barbie My Scene Bling Bling Styling Head. (Yeah, there's an "African American" version of her, too, named Madison. I'm not sure who she reminds me of.) Yeah, kinda skanky. Yeah, kinda hot... but awfully femmy.

I can totally see both of them telling Ken to "step off," so they can hook up with the dyke doll. Niiiice.

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Book... Rest

Rest: a piece or thing for something to rest on; a supporting device; support

Rest: the refreshing quiet or repose of sleep; mental or spiritual calm; tranquillity; cessation or absence of motion

It's Dud's version of multi-tasking.

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Socializin' in the South... Small-Town Style

While visiting my parents in Texas, I had the good fortune to join them for an early Thanksgiving meal at the local Senior Center. (My mother is the former Board President, dontchaknow.) Anyway, we had a relatively decent meal of turkey, dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, cranberry sauce, and sweet tea. While always mildly uncomfortable due to my sinful lesbian status when in the midst of what constitutes a fair portion of my mother's social circle, I DO enjoy some of the socialization amongst the old farts my elders.

The afternoon in question happened to coincide with the culmination of a season's worth of competition on Dancing with the Stars. The table was abuzz with opinions of whether Mario Lopez or Emmitt Smith would win. One woman seemed particularly adamant that Emmitt held far greater appeal:

Older men know enough to make sure the woman is satisfied, too!

I'm so glad the whole table erupted in laughter, because I was a laughing fool.


When the meal was finally over, the seniors--and my familial unit--began to disperse. My father stopped to speak with a man who hadn't had the good fortune to dine at my table. I didn't hear what my father actually said to the old guy, but when Daddy turned to me for introductions he stated he was teasing "Jim" because Jim was a newlywed. Jim then piped up, informing me he'd been married before, for 56 years, until his wife passed away three years ago. When he said, "I didn't really want to get married again," I quipped, "What, she wouldn't shack up?"

Ever seen an elderly man blush?

Thank God my mother didn't hear that exchange. Daddy laughed.

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