Going down

Happy Halloween, everyone! My company is having a costume contest today that I'm really looking forward to. Creative people tend to go all out, with very entertaining results. It looks like I'm not going to be Joan Holloway after all this year; all the major fetes are tonight, leaving me no time to get her elaborate 'do. Women had to work so hard on their appearance back then. I would have needed hairpieces, setting, the works. If I had a party tomorrow night, I'd be fine with it, but it's too much for me to handle after 9 hours of the corporate grind. I don't exactly walk out of the house right after showering in the morning, but I'm out the door in an hour most days. When I gussied myself up to be Rita, just getting my hair done took an hour and a half. I haven't got the stamina for that after a long workday. I'm done for the year, but I can and will wear the fab "Joan dress" that I bought to work.

I'm still waiting on the Rita pictures, by the way. Sarah still hasn't emailed them to me. That's the last time she's on camera duty!

Last night I headed to a restaurant that was just a few blocks from work to meet a friend for dinner. While it's not exactly true that nobody walks in LA, most people won't walk if they can drive. I walk whenever possible, since my ass is in a chair all day five days a week. Not surprisingly, a great deal of my crazier encounters have taken place on LA streets, but I managed to walk to and from the restaurant without incident.

Things got interesting when I got back to the office to pick up my things. I used the ladies' room before leaving the building, and left my keys on the counter. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that until I was on the 7th floor of the parking garage, within 100 feet of my car. Shit! What an idiot. I had no choice but to go back to work to find them. The irony of having wanted to get some exercise that evening did not escape me.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a woman, who was quite pretty, and a man, whose face I didn't see for a moment, because it was buried in her substantial, and mostly uncovered, cleavage. She let out a small shriek and he snapped his head up, looking annoyed with me for showing up unexpectedly. I really didn't care. Slurp on it all you want, if you have her consent, as long as I don't have to watch. I turned my back to them and put my iPod buds in, pressing the elevator's lobby button.

My iPod Shuffle was set at a low volume, and the couple behind me were mostly quiet. I didn't hear much except for his grumbling and a few "tee-hees" on her part.

We reached the ground floor. Apparently, the couple had meant to get off (pun only slightly unintended) on the 4th floor, but were too wrapped up in each other to remember to press the button. The man was annoyed. He also thought, mistakenly, that my Shuffle was at a higher volume.

"Aw, man," he moaned, "we went all the way to the bottom because of this ho." He meant me. Cleavage Ho giggled, also unaware that I could hear.

Oh, hell no. They picked the wrong ho.

"That's nice," I snapped, turning my head slightly as I walked out. "Why don't you learn to fucking use an elevator, retard?"

She gasped. He was completely wide-eyed and silent. I smiled. The doors shut.

And...scene.

It's 74 and sunny in LA,

but look what it's doing where I grew up:

My friend Suzi sent me this pic. It's not even Halloween yet! I got so tired of shoveling when I lived on the east coast. I loved the first snowfall, but it was all downhill from there.

I fully support the Bill of Rights, which allows douchebags like this to say whatever stupid thing comes to mind.

Apparently, equality is a European value, and Americans who believe our country should have equality too have been misled.


How could people cheer after hearing that? My favorite comment in the thread that followed the video came from ralph the wonder llama, who asked, "I’d like to know what made right-wingers think that all they have to do is say something to make it true?"

So would I, ralph. I'm sure Prager puts the word "equality" in quotes, like McCain does with "women's health."

Speaking of which:

I am so using the term "dick fingers" from now on!

Hat tip: Shakesville.

Alpha Dog of the day

Hat tip: Feministe.

Wisdom from Dudeville

Women are not some 'strange foreign race' that you know nothing about. Yes, you will have difficulty understanding them because of eons of social and physiological differences between the genders. But the one thing you can, and have to understand is that a woman is, deep down, just like you. They have emotions, feelings, scars both mental and physical. They have a history.

It's awesome. Go read.

Joan, meet Rita.

I unexpectedly have a Halloween party this Saturday, but my Joan dress hasn't arrived yet (I ordered it online and it will be delivered next week). Last night I headed down to American Vintage on Melrose and attempted to squeeze myself into every 1960s style dress the place had; it wasn't happening. I had always figured that vintage clothes would fit me well, since I'm more on the curvy side (instead of the 'needle shape' that is currently so popular here in LA).

Well, shit.

What the hell kinds of undergarments did women wear back then? I'm assuming that weariing a very stuffed bra and the cruelest girdle known to man is the only way that a human woman can have a 40" bust and a 25" waist. Those are Barbie measurements, people. The hell?

I was finally able to squeeze my ass into a 1940s black velvet cocktail dress. I managed to get it for $27, since it was missing one button and another was broken. I'll replace them with a couple of jeweled buttons from an old Jones New York blazer. Looks like I'll be Rita Hayworth tomorrow night. Not a bad switch, and still a redhead. I'll be Joan next week, I guess!

Listen to Opie!

See more Ron Howard videos at Funny or Die

Halloweenies

Halloween is almost upon us, kids. What will you be this year? I'm still planning to be Joan Holloway, continuing my 'famous redheads' costume theme of the last few years. Assuming that I have a party to go to, I've got a 1960s style 'wiggle dress' on call. I'll make any excuse to wear the clothing from back then!

A lot of people refer to All Hallows' Eve as "Slut-O-Ween," but I prefer to call it "Freak-O-Ween." What time of year could be more appropriate to proudly fly your freak flag? When I lived back in Boston, I used to go to Salem to celebrate. Weirdos crawl out of the woodwork; everybody is off their meds and nothing is too bizarre. If you're into the darker parts of New England history, the Witch Museum is open that night, along with the Dungeon Museum, where actors recreate witch trials based on surviving transcripts. Spells, stones and potions can be purchased on famous Essex Street, where you can have your fortune told, or your aura read, by one of the many practicing witches in the area. My favorite shop was Angelica of the Angels; my girl JoAnne and I went there for readings with Rev. Barbara or one of the other mediums a couple of times a year. Silly, I know; but really fun. We'd make a day of it - have our readings, purchase a bauble or two, then have lunch at some cute spot in town.

On our most memorable trip to Angelica's, we made a quick stop at a Mailboxes, etc. so that I could send a birthday package to my sister. There was a man in his forties in line ahead of us, who overheard JoAnne and I chatting about our upcoming readings. He turned around.

"You know," he said, very gravely, "they do the work of the devil."

"Oh, sure," I smiled. "That's why we go." He glared and walked out. JoAnne and I waited for the door to shut, then erupted in laughter.

Wicked activities aside, the one tourist attraction that I would absolutely recommend is the House of Seven Gables, otherwise known as the "Hawthorne house." On Halloween night, the house stays open into the early morning, offering candelit tours. For a sentimental literature buff like myself, touring the house that the author of The Scarlet Letter lived in was heaven, but it's a cool place to check out even if you couldn't care less about Hester Prynne.

I'm sure it goes without saying that the Witches' New Year (that's Samhain for you history nerds) is far more imaginative in Salem than it is in Los Angeles. Out here, the Slut-O-Ween label is very apropos. Go anywhere in Hollywood that night and you'll be surrounded by angels and devils - both in nothing more substantial than underwear, horns and wings. They look very good in their non-costumes, mind you; most of them are actresses and models. My personal objection comes from a lack of originality. Then there's the fact that, when you go shopping for adult costumes, there isn't much choice besides "Slutty Fillintheblank." Slutty firefighter, slutty schoolgirl, slutty French maid...the slutty astronaut costume exists too - Jesus wept! I have seen it with my own eyes. I have to 'fess up that I myself was a slutty cop a few years back. I hadn't planned to go out for Halloween at all, but got a last minute plea from a good friend, who took me to Trashy Lingerie to shop. I know. I was open to something new - a little too open. Officer Naughty was by far the most demure costume I could find - a shirtdress that buttoned up the front, had full sleeves, and came down to mid-thigh. Still, she was less than shy; I'm pretty sure that stilettos and fishnets aren't standard issue for the LAPD. Even so, I felt like a Mormon compared to most of the women I passed on the street. Strangely, I feel safest on Halloween, the one night when even I think anything goes. I can drop my conservative wardrobe with no fear. In a sea of exposed flesh, no way do I stand out the most, no matter what I have or haven't got on. The year that I was a cop, one of my tiny, very fit friends decided to be Pocahontas, who must have been incredibly cold back in the day, wearing not much more than a suede bathing suit with beaded fringe on the Virginia coast in wintertime. No wonder John Smith fell for her so hard! We jokingly called her "Poke-a-hot-ass" all night that year.

I much prefer making use of my own clothes to create my costumes. The year before I was Officer Naughty, I decided to be Jessica Rabbit - she of the icon that I use in my profile.



Yes, dear readers, c'est moi, in character. I took a previously worn Ann Taylor gown and dressed it up with a pair of $15 purple opera gloves from Hollywood Costume. It's easily the cheapest and most elegant costume I've ever worn - I was a poor imitation of the real thing, I know, but it was fun to be Jessica for one night. Unfortunately, I had to explain who I was to some members of the under-25 set. Apparently, I've gotten to the age when recent college graduates haven't seen any of the movies from my childhood! These kids today. I spent a good part of my evening advising my fellow partygoers to add to their Netflix qeue.

Jessica is the least revealing costume I've ever worn, but she backfired on me, big time. Earlier I mentioned the freedom of going unnoticed in a sea of uncovered limbs, but Jessica got a reaction, whether the guys knew who she was or not. Was it because I was covered up? You know, the lure of the unseen? I can never get this right. To wit:

Catwoman (unitard, mask) - no problem
Wonder Woman (sparkly bathing suit, boots) - no problem
Officer Naughty (shirtdress, stilettos) - no problem
Ginger of Gilligan's Island (long gown) - harrassed incessantly
Jessica Rabbit (black tie ready) - randomly groped, booty call

You know what? It's not me at all. It's a tossup whose outcome depends on the quality of men I'm surrounded by.

As Jessica, I had such a lovely conversation with a man dressed as the Phantom of the Opera that I gave him my number. He called. Not a few days later, to ask me on a date, but at 3:30 that morning, to booty call me. Jessica might not have hung up on him, but Ginger did.

He called back at 4am. "You're just scared," he slurred drunkenly.

"No," I countered. "I'm smart."

Even Officer Naughty didn't get that kind of treatment, and she had handcuffs! Wonder Woman didn't have to deal with that, either. Then again, she had the Lasso of Truth. Maybe that's what kept them at bay. Would Joan Holloway carry handcuffs and rope in her purse? Probably not. Hopefully, there's some magic in the special gold pen she wears around her neck. I'll let you know.

Wowza

Since 1929, Republicans and Democrats have each controlled the presidency for nearly 40 years. So which party has been better for American pocketbooks and capitalism as a whole? Check out Bulls, Bears, Donkeys and Elephants at The New York Times Online. Damn.

Twenty days

I really can't overstate how important it is for people to vote this year. Nobody can afford to sit on the sidelines. There's a really interesting post up at Pandagon about a couple of the propositions on the California ballot this year. I've always enjoyed living in mostly liberal states (New York, Massachusetts, and now California), but you just can't take it for granted that your civil rights are solid, ever. If either of these propositions are passed, they won't affect me personally, but they make me sick, because I actually give a shit about equality and bodily autonomy. You can't take one group's rights away and expect your own to be protected.

Sarah Palin blues

Thanks to my godmother for sending me this hilarious video:


I'm almost starting to feel sorry for Palin, except for the fact that she dug her own hole (and allowed the Good Old Boys to throw her into it).

Hat tip to Jezebel for the MSNBC video.

A fresh start?

"Your luck is going to change."

So said the petite, curly haired, gypsyesque middle-aged woman who manned one of the booths at the annual Abbott Kinney Street Festival. I had just bought a gorgeous knitted coat from her. It was a sumptuous plummy brown, floor length, with a scalloped collar and a velvet tie at the bust. It was only $60! The festival always hosts dozens of vendors with some amazing bargains; earlier that afternoon, I had purchased a beautiful 1950s style feather barrette for a mere $20.

"Are you single?" she asked with a smile while ringing up my purchase.

"It's that obvious, huh?" I laughed. "Have you got some Love Potion No. 9 for me?"

She pulled a small vial of oil out of her jacket pocket and motioned for me to hold out my hands, palms up.

Amused, I did so. She dabbed a drop of oil on each palm and rubbed them in with her index and middle fingers. "Now, you rub your hands together."

I did. "Now, do like me." She cupped her hands together and smoothed them over her head, starting at her chin and ending at the nape of her neck. I copied the motion with my oily palms.

"Should I feel different now?" I joked. "I need all the help I can get."

"Now," she said, nodding serenely, "your luck will change. You will see." An interesting choice of words. I hadn't mentioned my inexplicable freak pull; I guess it's true that it works its magic through my pores or something. My friend Belinda is convinced that I give off a pheromone. Maybe the gypsy magic oil can do something about that.

I have to say, all's been quiet on the freak front lately, but I've been working a lot. Last Friday night, I was walking home from the drugstore laden with bags when I heard a voice behind me. "Your man should be carrying those."

I stopped and turned around. "I'm sorry?"

Standing there was a smiling, very nice looking guy, maybe 29 years old. "Your man," he repeated, "should be carrying those for you."

"Well, he isn't here," I smiled good naturedly and turned to walk away.

"So, there is one?" he asked. "A man, I mean?" I have to say, it was one of the nicer come-ons I've gotten in the past few years.

I'm not sure why I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't a gut reaction, indicating danger; it was a mental thing. I thought about all the times I'd accepted dates from guys who were practically strangers, guys who weren't vetted by friends or family. All I could think was, What are you hiding, nice seeming boy? Who will you become if I actually go out with you?

I just couldn't go there. "Yes, there is," I lied with a smile.

"That's too bad for me," he answered, pleasantly enough.

"Have a good night," I said as I walked away. Is my guard up so high now that the right guy can't come over it?

Maybe my luck is changing, but I'll need a little time to get used to the idea.

Greatest. Skit. Ever.

OY.

Calling all my Jewish readers...Sarah Silverman has something to say to you.

The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo.

Gosh darnit!

Lordy lord. Dear readers, I don't know if you watched the debate tonight, but Palin's whole folksy, I'm-not-answering-any-of-the-questions-you-give-me-but-I'll-wink-at-the-camera approach made Yours Truly grind her teeth. When she had the audacity to speak about herself as a champion of women's rights, I wanted to reach through my computer screen and throttle her.

As I'm sure you've all noticed, I'm no Palin fan. But somebody in the valley is. Who are the freaky people who would actually view a Palin porno? There's no end to people's weird kinks...always something new to amaze and disgust.

By the way, Sarah? WRONG.

By the way, it's pronounced "NOO-clee-urr," not "NOO-kew-lurr."