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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Tut

Wen (Reading a headline): "Broken leg may have killed Tutankhamun."
Suz (Laughs): Really?
Wen: I was absolutely fascinated with King Tut as a child. It started with a jigsaw puzzle of his gold coffin.
Suz: I find that whole era fascinating. Did you see the King Tut exhibit?
Wen: No, but I owned the Steve Martin record.



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Keeping Up with the Joneses

Run, don't walk to your nearest eclectic vendor of beverages: The 2006 Jones Soda Holiday Pack is out! (Um, okay, it has been for a couple of weeks. Sue me.) Flavors this year include Turkey and Gravy, Pea, Sweet Potato, Dinner Roll, and, appropriately enough, Antacid. There's a Dessert Pack too, in case you haven't sufficiently upset your stomach. And hey, if you really want to submit something icky, there's even a "suggest a flavor" link at the website.

Although you may rest assured that I will not be partaking of these "original" beverages, don't dismiss them out of hand. In addition to the excellent gift potential for "special" people in your life, a portion of the proceeds do go to Toys for Tots. If you're really in to this kind of crap, you can order your own personalized 12-pack for a mere $35 dollars (plus S&H, of course).


Or, better yet, save on shipping and donate $35 worth of toys to needy kids this year.

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Lesson Number Two

What's that? You missed the message in Lesson Number One? Muscle cars RULE. And sometimes 'necks prevail. Since ya'll aren't too sharp at determining the main theme of a story, I'll tell ya the point of Lesson Number Two: DVR is both a blessing and a curse.

My mother, bless her heart, loves her toys. (Don't EVEN go there, she's 71 and I don't wanna think about it. STFU, Kmae!) The toys of which I speak are electronics. She's always been a gadget junky. From early model personal computers and CB radios to color copiers and atomic clocks, MotherWhit has always been quick to purchase the latest technological innovation. (Although, for some reason DSL has only recently replaced dial-up. Wtf? Ah well, better late than never!)

My point? MotherWhit is the Queen of DVR.

Like all DVR users, my mother records shows she would like to see when she cannot be home. Like many DVR users, she will also record one show while watching another. I wonder, though, how many DVR users routinely back up a program every single time the viewer misses something of interest? After 9/11, if Mother happened to miss the singing of the national anthem at the start of a baseball game, she'd back up the DVR and watch it. If she, or more likely my daddy, didn't hear a clever quip or key line in whatever show, MotherWhit would back it up and replay it.

I witnessed this while home this past week during the Late Show with David Letterman. Mother wasn't paying much attention to the music act, as +44 is not exactly her preferred genre. When Dave started talking about the drummer (who totally rocked), however, MotherWhit obviously had to back it up so she could watch his one-handed (by choice, not physical disability) performance. All in all, pretty cool.

On the downside of DVR employment, though, is my mother recorded and saved one of Rachel Ray's talk show episodes that involved creating a pot from a roll of tickets.

Why is that a downside to DVR, you ask? Because that roll of tickets required a LOT of manipulation in order to resemble a pot, and I was the designated manipulator. Thanks, RR. Damned DVR.

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Lesson Number One

I have two brothers, one of whom is a certified redneck. I can offer his accent, gun collection, beer belly, wardrobe of camouflage and coveralls, and multiple vehicles in various stages of being re-outfitted in the "yard" as evidence. (No Syd, there are no chickens... that I know of... but there's a pot-bellied pig--a one-time house pet--that now lives in fetid squalor in the back yard and has to weigh almost as much as a cow). I couldn't tell you how many dogs and cats are roaming around their place. Oh - he also used to live in a trailer but actually made good on the poor white trash dream of living in a trailer just long enough to make enough money to build his own home. He's damned handy, that 'neck brother of mine.

Anyway, "Red" very recently purchased a local auto repair shop in his little hick town. He continues to work fulltime at the chemical refinery he's worked at for the last fifteen years or so; he hired my other brother and also kept the former mechanic on to do the actual repair work. All of this is actually pretty cool in my family. Red has a new business; other brother has a job he loves; and nephew is picking up some new skills in his free time. Red's wife has been an active participant in marketing the new business. I learned this today upon my first visit to the shop, where I was given key rings, pens, and magnets advertising the new venture.

As I was surveying Red's new domain, my eyes landed on a photo of his wife posing with an unknown man in racing paraphernalia in what was clearly some sort of racing venue. I gestured at the picture and asked who it was. "Your sister-in-law," Red replied dryly. Then he went on to educate me: the unknown racer in the picture is drag racing star Tony Schumacher. Apparently Mr. Schumacher is the shit on the "NHRA circuit" and the pic of my SIL standing arm-in-arm with him is something akin to hugging Reba McEntire or Hank Williams, Jr. at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. Red was about as animated as I've ever seen him (sober) while talking about the drag racing. His evident pride in the photo, however, quickly diminished when the topic turned to the marketing efforts. It seems my SIL ordered the wrong calendars: Classic cars instead of Muscle cars.

I might not know much about NASCAR or NHRA, but in this instance my brother and I were in accord. Muscle cars are more appealing.

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Southern Accent, Here I Come

I'm off to Texas to visit the famdamily for a few short days. Ya'll have fun now, y'hear?



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Gift Idea?

I gotta ask "why"... but I DID laugh. Hell, I guess that's reason enough.

Thank God Dudley doesn't behave so... he'd hurt his back.

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Out of the Closet

Today was a day of much needed organization. Each year around this time I take on the task of converting the closets and drawers to winter apparel. I decided this weekend was the time, as we had our first "freeze" and I'm ready to trust that I won't see 70 on the thermometer again until April. In the previous few weeks, we've experienced what is fairly typical early fall weather for this area: some days hovering in the 40-degree range, others climbing to near 80. One natural consequence of such capricious weather is the need for greater shoe diversity. Boots mingled with sandals in an alarming display of disarray.

Really, the knowledge that one of my place-for-everything-and- everything-in-its-place compadres (and her shoe-flinging partner) will be visiting next weekend wasn't an influencing factor at all. Heh.

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Public Service Advisory

Liberation from nasty public facilities (and poorly maintained private ones, Deborah) has arrived! Fear the empty toilet paper holder no more!
That's right. Your own personal roll of TP, sized for convenience. You can buy it at REI, or order it here. I assume it's squeezably soft... and since it's your personal roll, Mr. Whipple can shut the hell up.


I learned of the existence of this product from Suzanne's mother, but had to Google for some time to find the actual name (memory like a steel trap, I have). For your own search engine awareness, "travel size toilet paper" yielded the product of interest. "Personal toilet paper" and "portable toilet paper" most decidedly did not.

Instead, I found this personal toilet, useful "during all crucial moments as in the cars, private planes, dirty toilets, or camping". Um, think I'll pass. Even in conjunction with this classy privacy shelter (that "pops up in seconds, not minutes,") no.

There was also the bumper dumper. Definitely not, despite the amusing and descriptive name... or the feasibility anywhere "a sanitation situation may occur".

And, although I may wish for a larger bladder on occasion, I never considered the benefits of a spare one. That's not just any spare bladder, either: "Special granular polymer inside each pouch soaks up contents and converts it instantly into a scent-neutralizing gel".

I'm not particularly inclined to avail myself of these other conveniences, but ya'll feel free to do so if hiking or emergency preparedness is your thing.

And go ahead, squeeze the Charmin. It's yours.

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