Diary of a Freak Magnet

Didn't they use this guy in a GEICO commercial?

2010-10-11T13:13:00.001-07:00

HIM: Women are things.

ME: Thanks for stopping by, caveman. Tell me, after the anthropologists thawed you out, how long did it take them to teach you to speak?

The thrill of online dating continues unabated, yay me.

2010-05-25T20:59:00.000-07:00

fred8666: can I be your slave? I will do any thing that you order me. I will kiss and massage your feet if you let me.

Ginger: I won't. As it says in my profile, nobody touches my feet.

fred8666: can I lick your ass?

Ginger: No, thank you.

Haven't forgotten you, let me make up for it!

2009-07-31T10:01:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Hope you've been well, and busy and happy as I am.

Freak magnetism continues apace, with this latest, um, entry in my box:

A older women offered me money to see what the different between boys and girls were.....She was bigger than I and I was intimidated buy her insistance.. so I laid naked on the ground for all of glory and her to see! Then without warning, she straddle my torso and pinned my arms with her knees.......then she took out a roll of nickels, held my nose until my mouth opened , and then one by one she made me swallow as many coins as possible by forcing them down my throat. Don't remember how many coins I swallowed just, recall being taken to emergency. The coins were given back to me by the doctors as a token of the experience.

No idea whether he made that up, whether it's a fantasy, or it really happened. Not sure I want to know. Not at all surprised, however, that he wanted me to know.

Happy Birthday, my man.

2009-06-11T14:46:00.000-07:00

In Bonnie & Clyde:

In Young Frankenstein with Madeline Kahn:

With Richard Pryor in Silver Streak:

In The Woman in Red:

In Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex:

Interviewed by Alec Baldwin:

Interviewed by another legend, David Frost:

And of course, in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, the movie that started my crush.

SPARKLES!

2009-06-05T15:21:00.000-07:00

Keep it classy

2009-05-27T19:28:00.000-07:00

Went to Hermosa Beach on Sunday last weekend, because I like my holidays hot with a side of drunken 22-year-olds.

I kid. But I have to say, the beach party scene has never been my thing.

Had dinner with a couple of girlfriends - the weather was perfect, and the food was wonderful - and then headed to Patrick Malloys, a pub on the boardwalk. It was drunken-22-year-old heaven.

Note to said 22-year-olds: booze does not improve your dancing skills. It does make you more willing to look silly in front of total strangers, though.

After having a drink, I squeezed my way past a couple of partyers so I could have a pee. I found myself standing in line with a couple of women having a very intense, very drunken conversation, of which my favorite part was this:

"Listen, girl, I am 33 now. I have decided I'm just not going to pee in alleyways anymore. It's tacky!"

As if it's okay at some other age.

That's Hermosa on a holiday weekend, in a nutshell.

Puke. In. My Mouth.

2009-05-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

Hysterical.

Lady of the dance

2009-05-14T18:39:00.000-07:00

The Morrigan has an absolutely hilarious post up about the practical (and very physical) pain of brazilian wax jobs; I highly suggest you read it. A friend of mine had a similar incident a few years back. She attempted to wax herself without first testing the heat of the wax.

Fire down below!

To escape the burning pain, she jumped into her tub to cool off - and wound up stuck to it. I think it took her almost an hour to extract her (now very raw) labia from the porcelain. This is all funny in retrospect, of course, since she wasn't permanently damaged. At the time, though, she had to contemplate whether to extract herself with considerable bloodshed or call 911. When you're a slave to pubic hair fashion, these are the rewards you reap.

Bepenised readers, allow your favorite redhead to pontificate on the royal pain in the ass that is female grooming and maintenance. If the ladybits are right on the outside, they're not right on the inside, or vice versa; sometimes they're just not right altogether. On a good day, having ladyparts is divine, like owning a heated indoor pool that just happened to be installed between your thighs; orgasmically speaking, we're built with an Uzi to a man's shotgun. On a bad day, though, ladybusiness is like a foreign car - finicky and impractical, stalling at intersections, with weird looking parts that are expensive to replace. It's a double-edged sword, boys. The proverbial blessing-and-curse paradox if there ever was one.

Every single one of us women has some humiliating grooming story in her past. The Morrigan has inspired me to share mine, so here goes:

A FEW YEARS BACK

**ring, ring***

Tabitha: Hello?

Ginger: Hey, it's me. I think I did something really stupid...

Tabitha: (worried) Are you ok?

Ginger: ...I kind of shaved off all my pubic hair.

Tabitha: ....

(moment of silence)

Tabitha: HYSTERIAL LAUGHTER

Ginger: I haven't seen it without hair in twenty years! Oh my god, I look twelve! And I'm cold!

Tabitha: (trying to control giggling) And how did this happen?

Ginger: Um. I was cleaning it up and kind of missed...so I shaved some more off. Then it was uneven so I shaved some more...tried to even it out on the sides...and wound up with a patch that kind of looked...like a Hitler moustache.

Tabitha: OH MY GOD HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ginger: I...contemplated leaving it there but it had to go. I cannot look at that every day. I do not have a fascist punany.

Tabitha: (choking) Oh my god.

Ginger: My punany is a blue state. (whiny) Now it's got a bald senator!

Tabitha: (loses it)

Ginger: God, this is going to itch in a week.

It's not just grooming that gets us women into trouble. Like a heated pool or expensive car, the ladybusiness contains delicate parts that need fine tuning. Their temperature, fluid levels and pH can be thrown off by lifestyle, medication and even laundry detergent.

In the early 00's, I wound up on antibiotics for a sinus infection that had spread to my ears. My fellow females probably already know where I'm going with this; as for my male readers, let it be known that antibiotics can dry up the ladybusiness from the inside out. This is, predictably, uncomfortable and requires one to moisturize the area a few times a day.

Towards the end of my prescription, I stepped out of shower one morning after a not particularly great night of sleep. Those of you who are regular readers of this blog already know that I am (a) and insomniac and (b) really, really not a morning person. Having overslept on this particular morning, I was in a rush. Instead of picking up my 'feminine moisturizer', which came in a long plastic tube, my barely awake self grabbed, and applied, tartar control mint toothpaste to my, um...well.

Have you ever seen Riverdance? Picture one of the performers on crack cocaine. I jumped back in the shower, towels and all, to douse what felt like hydrochloric acid burning its way through my most tender parts.

On the bright side, I was completely awake after that. The downside was that I was even later for work than usual. It was also uncomfortable to sit for two days.

So, boys, when you're trying to get with a woman, whether you've been with her before or are making the first move, bear in mind the amount of maintenance put upon the fairer sex by nature and fashion. Show us that you're appreciative of our efforts by keeping your bits clean. I MEAN EVERYTHING. Use baby wipes. Make sure it shines. Yes, we will notice, and in fact, it's the least you owe us for our troubles.

It's official: I am a twit.

2009-05-06T17:40:00.000-07:00

Readers, I realize that I haven't been making regular updates, but you may now follow me on Twitter. I'm giving it a trial run - it may be too annoying to deal with, but we'll see. The good news is that the short, weird encounters that I have can go up on my page immediately. Feel free to make me a favorite, if you are so inclined. I love to be people's favorite!

Proof that my parents were pretty cool

2009-05-01T17:02:00.000-07:00

I can't believe this lady. Has she never heard of the term "self-fulfilling prophecy"? There's nothing more for me to add, really. Enjoy the smackdown.

Achy face

2009-05-01T11:33:00.001-07:00

Single women = lepers!

2009-04-24T11:10:00.000-07:00

What happens in Vegas

2009-04-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

I visited my Dad in Vegas for Easter weekend; my sister and brother in law flew in from New York as well. Here's my favorite memory from my trip:

Dad, Second Wife, SisterGirl and Brother in Law went to see Cirque du Soleil's LeRéve at the Wynn on the Monday evening following Easter weekend. Having already seen LeRéve during my previous visit at Thanksgiving, I decided to walk around and check out the Wynn during the hour that they'd be in the theater.

I wandered through the casino and out onto a terrace that faced a giant waterfall and pool. There was a bar at the far end and plenty of chairs and tables were available. I walked over to the bar and asked for a Jameson and ginger ale. After having a funny conversation with the bartender about the Irish origins of the word 'whiskey', I settled into a white wicker chair that faced the waterfall. It was about 7pm.

I made a couple of phone calls so I could catch up on the rest of my life after a weekend of family bonding. Half an hour later, I was thinking about taking another walk when fireworks began to go off above the waterfall. I decided to stay put and see what happened; I called my friend Tabitha so that we could catch up.

It was a gorgeous night; the chairs were beginning to fill up with hotel guests. As I was dialing, I looked up to see a disheveled, 30-ish guy in a black leather jacket and black knit cap, who pointed to the chair opposite me and asked if it was taken. I told him it was free and he sort of sunk into it, pulling his own cell phone out of his jacket pocket as he blankly stared in the direction of the waterfall. He was clearly coming down from a very potent high.

While I was chatting with Tab, the fireworks ended and the waterfall was lit by colored floodlights as music started to play. "Hang on, something is happening," I said to Tabitha. A few seconds later, a giant (I am not exaggerating, it was probably 40 feet wide) inflated, animatronic frog popped out of the top of the waterfall and began singing Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World." The thing's eyes were rolling, mouth moving, giant suction cup froggie fingers tapping in time to the beat. How Vegas can you get?

So I'm describing this scene to Tabitha over the phone when Black Jacket guy leans across the table to me, gestures at the giant singing frog and asks, "Do you see that?"

Um. "Do I see it?"

"Yeah. Is that really there?" Oh god, the dude was having a genuine Hunter S. Thompson moment. He thought he was hallucinating.

"Hold on, girl," I said to Tab and put my phone down for a second. "The frog? Yes, I see it."

"You do?"

"Yep. It's really there."

"Is it smoke?" he asked.

"What?"

"I think," he murmured, almost to himself, "they did it with lights and smoke." He was fiddling with his blackberry like crazy.

I started to feel sorry for the guy, who was clearly trying very hard to not freak out. "No, it's inflated," I said as patiently as I could. "It's real, I swear! I see it too."

Black Jacket got up and wandered (unsteadily) over to the balcony. He started taking pictures of the giant singing frog (I'm assuming for later proof that it was really there). Meanwhile I described everything that was happening to Tab; she was dying of laughter on the other end of the phone.

When the song ended, the frog deflated and retracted back into the top of the waterfall. Black Jacket sat back down.

"I'm not sure," he repeated slowly, "that I just saw that." I just smiled at his unblinking stare.

I'm thinking that he didn't believe I was real, either.

Take care of your beaver

2009-04-17T10:00:00.001-07:00

Best of Craigslist

2009-03-18T10:26:00.001-07:00

Love this post. I've never done the Craigslist thing, because from what I've heard, the majority of men seeking women posts are exactly what she describes here. All the guys I know who date on Craigslist are only looking to get their poles polished, which isn't very encouraging. Anyway, bravo.

The day where my favorite color is celebrated...

2009-03-17T11:45:00.000-07:00

...the thing is, I wear green a lot, so I didn't do anything special today, clothing-wise. I am wearing a Connemara bracelet and ring from Ireland, though. Then again, I wear those a lot. So...maybe I'll just have a green beer at lunch. I don't really drink beer...I'll have to make it a whiskey, but later on in the day. Sometimes I forget how extremely Irish I am until St. Patrick's Day, when all of my non-Irish friends make a big deal over their green clothes and beer and I realize that my own routine will be the same all day.

As to the above cartoon, I pick Gabriel Byrne. I recently read a comment on a fan site that said, "Met him in a Blockbuster - his eyes actually *twinkled*. You can tell he likes it rough and dirty. A very yummy man."

It's been a while, how are you?

2009-03-13T11:20:00.000-07:00

Hello all,

Sorry that I disappeared on you for a while there. Work got nuts (my usual excuse, I know), and to be frank, I needed the break.

Something else has been taking up my time as well; I think I've mentioned that I've been making jewelry for the past few years. I've been doing it for my own enjoyment and giving the results away as presents, mostly. Last month, I gave a necklace to my friend Liz for her birthday; she wore it to a Super Bowl party, where it got noticed by a friend of hers who's a makeup artist. Next thing I knew, I was being invited to participate in a pre-awards show gift suite. I had to take some time off from writing while I made over 100 bracelets for the VIPs who attended. I gave out almost 200 business cards, and my jewelry was a hit! I've sold a handful of pieces since the event, and am just happy to have a reason to go back to one of my favorite hobbies, which I had dropped for no good reason some time last year.

Although I'm not sure how much longer I want go on writing this blog, I certainly haven't run out of stories. Lately I've been back in touch with a man I used to work with; I'll call him Pete. Already married when I met him (to a really lovely woman), he now has a couple of kids and a propensity to turn the conversation sexual whenever we talk. Nothing has ever gone on, mind you. I've mentioned several times that I don't 'do' married. I was never cold towards Pete's constant flirtation, but I never encouraged it, either. He was my supervisor, and we did bond to an extent, since we worked in a pretty crappy environment together.

When I moved to LA, there were a handful of acquaintances from Boston that I lost touch with. It's not unusual for people to eventually stop contacting someone that they know they'll see very rarely in the coming years, but Pete always kept in touch. He left our old business digs as well, and we kept each other up to date on what we'd been doing.

Here's the thing, though - at the end of an otherwise innocent conversation (always over email, never by phone), he would slip in how much he missed me, how sexy I was, how I had been his 'favorite' at work. I would always smack him down by asking how his wife was; he'd make some glib comment and move on. We'd be out of touch for a few months; then one of us would move, change jobs, get a promotion, etc., an email would go out, and we'd say hello again, with the conversation always ending the same way.

This has been going on for almost ten years, a couple of times a year.

It's not a sexual attraction on my part; he's not a bad looking guy, but that's not his appeal. Pete is brilliant. The quickest way to get to me is through my brain, and Pete can talk about pretty much anything. He listens, too; a rare thing among men. Even rarer is his ability to feel exhilaration, not hostility, during a disagreement. I do have a real affection for him that would never move to the next level. Even though I've never personally indulged, I have a lot of respect for marriage, coupled with tremendous disdain for the idea of being a side dish. Not that it matters; we haven't been in the same room since 2003.

When I was younger and less experienced, I figured he flirted with everybody. I liked his wife a great deal and blew off his saucier comments with a laugh. Now that I'm a little older, I realize he was testing the waters, just checking to see how receptive I might be to a genuine come-on. Not my thing, though, and it was never really worth analyzing, since we live on opposite coasts now.

Not really sure why I'm writing about this - I think I've just been analyzing patterns in my relationships with men lately, and Pete popped up again a few weeks ago. He dropped me an email to let me know that he'd been in San Diego on business, wanted to know if I would have come down to visit him. Wanted to know what I would have worn. I've never understood the appeal of those you can't have - not since I was a teenager, anyway. I appreciate those who are around me and make the most of what I've got. I'm not a chaser, so I do not understand the chaser mentality. I don't know; I feel like I've got to figure a few things out before I get back into dating, which I've put on the shelf for a few months now.

I've been a homebody for the past two months, so I don't really have any crazy stories to report. Maybe things really are changing for me. I'll check in a few more times with the most colorful stories from my past, and then I may very well wrap this blog up. I created it for my own mental survival a few years ago. Now I may have to close it down for my own mental survival.

Ok, I'm going to wrap up this slightly serious post with Sarah Haskins' new funny take on Barbie. Enjoy!

Innocent

2009-01-21T18:37:00.000-08:00

Last fall, Godson and his mom Suzi were driving around while she was doing errands. As they passed a dairy farm, one of the bulls mounted a cow and started going to town. Suzi kept driving without comment, while thinking maybe he didn't notice. I'm really not ready to explain the birds and bees just yet.

After a minute of quiet, Godson piped up, "Hey, Mom! Did you see those cows?"

Oh, shit. "What about them, buddy?"

"They were playing leapfrog!"

I laughed my ass off when his mom told me that story. You only get to be that innocent once.

We went Barack, and we're not going back.

2009-01-20T10:46:00.000-08:00

Well, I guess that's one way to score some extra cash in this troubled economy.

2009-01-16T14:49:00.000-08:00

There's a man named George in Louisville who wants to eat my pussy. He'll eat yours too, if you're willing to pay, and are cute.

I kid you not, he's for real. Instead of doing my own post on this, I'll direct you to this amazing takedown, courtesy of my guest poster of the week, The Morrigan. Bon Apétit!

Guest post: The Morrigan's nightmare date, Part II

2009-01-15T18:09:00.000-08:00

Part I is here.

His face goes beet red and he turns to one side to respond. 'Uh, I'm at the restaurant now' which elicits an almost instantaneous response of 'We'll be right over.'

'WE'LL BE RIGHT OVER'???

Has this become a party? I'm just here for a platonic lunch and ONLY out of politeness because really, all I want to do is just go home, Avoid the Drama and sleep. I feel so dreadful by now that instead of selecting something from the menu, I'm considering asking for a priest. We order our food and talk.

He's still not at all inappropriate, at least not to my face. But I'm not liking that 'We'll be right over' thing and I'm having dark suspicions about the fact that (a) it's less than 12 hours since I've seen this man and a number of his friends already know about me (b) they think he picked me up (c) they know that we were meeting at this place for lunch (d) they will apparently be arriving to join us. I notice with alarm that although the sun is barely over the yardarm, this guy's already drinking.

Strike one.

Not ten minutes later, his best friend shows up and inspects me as if I were about to go up for auction. He likes what he sees to such an extent that he attempts (take a deep breath now girl) to give Adam a high five at the table with me sitting right there.

And although I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and he's not directly responsible for his friend's appalling conduct, I'm not inclined to be all that generous, so this definitely counts as strike two.

WTF did this man say happened between us? He walked beside me for 4 blocks. That was IT. I have yet to shake his hand. Lunch was agreed to on the basis of the 'Friends only' caveat and I was EXCEPTIONALLY explicit about that.

His friend retreats, but not far. He sits at the bar some 10 feet from our table to watch us have lunch. This swiftly becomes not only irritating but unnerving as his friend (Brad) is constantly (a) drinking (b) on the cellphone juggling women and giving us 'progress reports' on how well he's doing with each of them.

By this time, I cannot imagine what the look on my face is like but I don't think I'm smiling. Adam leaves the table, walks over to Brad and says something. Brad goes outside for a while. Adam returns to the table and orders more alcohol.

I'm losing track of how many strikes we're at by now, but at the very least we're coming up to the seventh inning stretch and it's not going well for him at all.

Lunch (which was very good) is over and he asks if I would like to see the patio for a minute. I would rather just kill myself and be done with it, but polite to the core, I agree. I bring my diet coke to the patio and he orders *another* beer. With a shot to go along with it.

Then the rest of his friends start arriving, all saying some variation of 'Wow – is this the one? Score, dude!' right out loud in front of me. They attempt to impress me with tales of their recent trips to Hooters. Adam is not saying much and I'm saying NOTHING. He's shrinking visibly into his seat as his buddies continue to arrive and congregate at the table. Soon, there are 8 of us there: me and Adam, Brad, Brad's DAD and 4 of Adam's other friends.

They are saying things to me like 'Yeah, he said you were smoking hot, but man, you're so hot he must be paying you.' Clearly, this guy (a) is convinced that I'm out of his league (an opinion his friends share) and (b) has spent the night working the phones.

This leads me to believe that he has described me as so scorchingly hot that not only his friends BUT ALSO THEIR FATHERS have called bullshit on him to such a degree that honour requires that he produce me so they can see for themselves.

What follows is 20 minutes of relentless sexual harassment at the hands of his friends, which Adam does not even attempt to intervene in or stop. Uh, buddy, one of your friends just suggested that I was a prostitute and you don't have an opinion on that? He sits there mute and keeps trying to make himself smaller and smaller but doesn't ask anyone to shut up or leave and continues to drink. In fact, the drinking accelerates.

While it was an interesting anthropological exercise, I've been completely silent throughout it and after the said 20 minutes, I cannot take anymore for fear that this is the thing that will finally trigger the start of my killing spree, so I get up. 'Well, sounds like you guys have your afternoon planned. Have fun.' – a booze filled day of boating to take in the delights of a strip club there and a return trip with a hold full of smuggled alcohol – and I take my leave. There is a chorus of 'give her a kiss Adam' as I stand and prepare to depart, but by this time, Adam seems to understand that he will never lay eyes on me again if I have any say in the matter and has values his life sufficiently not to make the attempt. He knows he's blown it big time but I'm not sure he's clued into the fact that it's because he's invited the entire town out to gawk at me, insult me and stare at my breasts. I leave. He does not even try to make eye contact, but stares sheepishly into his beer as I depart and does not follow me (and I was half afraid he would).

This man does not have my number (thank God) and only the sketchiest idea of where I live. Given this horrific turn of events, I can no longer write at the same restaurant I did. That's no great loss but now I'm on the fence about going to the pyromaniac festival on Saturday night because I told him I would be there and I GUARANTEE he - and all of his friends - will be there looking for me.

Clearly, he could not believe his luck and although he did seem nice one-on-one, I'm going to give this guy a wide berth. The nonstop drinking, the incredibly boorish friends and the big mouth in this very small town add up to strikes one to three inclusive and I don't need to go there. Lunch was enough to persuade me that I've seen all I want to of Adam.

Unbelievable. I have *got* to get out of this town.

Presumptuous

2009-01-12T12:48:00.000-08:00

Got an email today from a 25 year old with a special offer:

I know we have a pretty big gap between our ages but i wanted to let you know how attractive you are. Want to get to know you and be that young athletic man to come take care of you on your lonely days where you just need a release. What do you think?

UM.

I think he watches "Real Housewives of Orange County" too much! Not all women in their 30s are lonely and desperately looking to reclaim their 20s. Besides man-hos, I have also eschewed Botox, perma-tans and implants...so far. I'll keep you posted.

Shrinkage

2009-01-09T10:11:00.001-08:00

Poor bastard.

Guest post: The Morrigan's nightmare date, Part I

2009-01-05T17:49:00.001-08:00

Hello all,

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been corresponding regularly with The Morrigan, the columnist of "I'm Not Bitter..." over at Heartless Bitches International. The Morrigan and I have been admiring each other's work from a distance for a while now, but I was prompted to email her directly when I found out that she was very ill and had been hospitalized. She emailed me to let me know that my blog had been keeping her company during her convalescence, and I was happy to hear that I'd made her laugh a little during a difficult time.

Writing has been keeping her sane while she's cooped up and healing, so I invited her to be a guest poster on my blog. She's got a couple of unpublished stories in her archives, and this one was too good to pass up. See, The Morrigan and I have similar difficulties with men, in that something about us inspires seriously bizarre male behavior. She thinks it must be our fate as redheads. You be the judge. Here's the first installment of her nightmare date.

I met up with HRH last evening ~ 5:30 and we chatted until about 7 or so. We met at the same place where I first encountered Dr. Love, who in fact wandered in and eyed us curiously from the bar. I pointed him out to HRH and told him the tale, which he found vastly amusing.

In any case, it was a lovely chat between two friends. It was nice to see him again.

After he left the premises, I stuck around to write and somehow wound up at the bar, being hit on by Dr. Love's protege, a rather belligerent fellow of about 30 whose romantic style reminded me very much of those old Wild Kingdom reruns where the elks are running around showing off their antlers and headbutting each other pointlessly in an attempt to catch the attention of some cow who was either in the vicinity because the grass looked tasty or she because was a spy and would lampoon them all later in a column.

With Dr. Love Jr. ('DLJ') was an acquaintance who was not much older (about 35) but MUCH older if you get my drift. He was covered in tattoos (including one on his neck, which made me wince: it must've hurt getting it done) but this one didn't say much. This second fellow (whose name was Adam) and I rolled our eyes at DLJ's views on women, which are somewhere between neolithic and single cell organism. Hard to imagine why Dr. Love Jr is single. Ay carumba.

In any event, after regaling me for about an hour with his plans to purchase a wife, some vestigial synaptic connection was finally made – i.e. DLJ realized that there was no way I was going to do him even for practice, no matter how many bags of Doritos he dangled in front of me – and he left.

This left me with Adam, who began talking. And turned out to be rather interesting. He looks exactly like a big scary biker – OMG, that's another thing! On no less than 4 separate occasions, I was offered a variety of illicit substances – weed, mushrooms, hash. This MUST just be Lasalle. Surely to God I don't have the furtive look of a dope fiend to the extent that complete strangers are approaching me of their own accord to freely suggest that I partake of controlled drugs/substances. I'm telling you, if this place were within the WPS purview, one undercover guy on one night could net at least a handful of arrests. It was unreal. And all very friendly too. This appears to be Lasalle's version of the Welcome Wagon. 'Hi! New in town? Have a blunt.' And this wasn't just being proffered as a romantic gesture either, like a civilized man might bring me flowers. This was being suggested by old timers, knitting grannies, the waitress. Maybe living with my mother has taken more of an obvious toll on me than I'd realized.

But back to my evening.

At some point around 9, a woman named Bern came in with her friend Jeanne. Bern was not quite 50 and Jeanne was well into her late 60s.

*BTW: Adam is surreptitiously buying me beer all night long and I'm drinking it.*

There are three things with Bern: One – she just lost one of her three children at the age of 21 and is obviously quite deeply mired in the grieving process; two – her husband is a cheating shitbag and three – she hasn't figured out she's a lesbian yet.

She and Jeanne and I talked for about 90 minutes and by this time, it must be said, I'm accumulating quite a snootful. I'm not drunk by any means, but I don't do this often and one is generally my limit. I'd say by this time, I'd had about 3.

Bern and I discussed the nature of loss and grieving for a while and once that got too obviously upsetting for her, we moved on to women's golf. (And I rest my case.) She kept insisting, puzzlingly and right out of the blue, that she was straight though you could see from space that this woman was as gay as they come. Which is fine. But admit it to yourself at the very least, woman, for the love and honour of God. It cannot be fun living a lie like that.

I heard all about her cheating husband, who was a shop steward in one of the car factories and how he was carrying on and what THAT whole experience was like. Specifically, she expounded at great length about her suspicions and how he was 'pulling away from her' physically and emotionally for the year and a half before they split, which I found absolutely fascinating.

Don't ask me why people tell me these things: they just do.

By this time, it was getting on to midnight and I knew I was in Big Trouble with my mother. All of a sudden, I'm 17 again, but really: what am I doing wrong? I'm sitting in a bar, talking to a closeted lesbian, a pot smoking grandmother and a lavishly tattooed guy who keeps buying me drinks. Apparently this is how people pass the time in Lasalle when Dancing with the Stars isn't on.

Bern and Jeanne leave and it's me and Adam again.

Even though this guy looks as scary as hell, he strikes me as a gentle giant. A mechanic by trade, he is newly divorced with 3 small children. I get him to stop buying me drinks. We talk about Bern's son, whom he knew. Some old timer staggers by and offers us a joint, which we decline. (I'm telling you: I don't want to harsh anyone's buzz but I don't think Times Square sees this much action.)

OK, so it's past 1 now and the thought of facing my mother has instantly sobered me up. Adam asks me out to lunch (today at noon) and after warning him that I stay single deliberately as a public service to men everywhere and extracting from him an undertaking that he is to have no romantic illusions about the nature of 'lunch', I accept. He offers to walk me home. I accept. I'm pretty tuned in to danger when it comes to the male of the species and this guy is not ringing any of my bells. Besides, it's a few blocks along a well-lit route.

You can tell he doesn't quite know what to make of me. He laughs a lot over the course of the entire evening, but says nothing either stupid or inappropriate. This makes him nearly unique in the world of men. Apart from asking me out to lunch, he does not hit on me. Eye contact is maintained at all times. He never tries to lay a finger on me. He speaks well of his ex wife, which is heroic considering that they've been broken up for less than a year and his youngest isn't quite 2 yet.

So he walks me home, but he questions me at least twice about whether or not I'm actually going to show up at lunch. I remind him of the friends only terms, he agrees to them again and I assure him I'll be there. I leave him at the corner a block from the house in case my mother is peering out the curtains (a distinct possibility, even though it's now at least half past one in the morning and she usually goes to bed at 10).

I am not intoxicated.

I've had 5 beers over the course of as many hours but the fragrance of the tavern is thick upon me. I slip the key into the lock and BANG! my mother's on me like a tigress, flicking the light on and standing there in her outrage and loud cotton nightgown asking me the following questions: Do I know what time it is? Have I been drinking? How did I get home?

I breeze past her, somewhat surprised that she doesn't have a breath tech cooling his heels in the kitchen, but she follows me. She scrutinizes me with the intensity of a commandant at a POW camp, so of course I blame the whole thing on HRH and blithely claim we've been out this whole time having deep discussions about Reasonable and Probable Grounds and s.8 of the Charter. I go to the bathroom just to check the status of things and discover that my eyes have turned Eraserhead red, which no doubt has piqued her suspicions.

Again: I've done nothing wrong. But she's making me feel like I've spent the evening trolling for customers along Wyandotte. She's not sure she's buying the whole chatting with a judge angle, but by this time it's the middle of the night and she's tired. She makes a strategic retreat and I go to bed.

It's nearly 7 now and I haven't slept yet. As mentioned, I don't do this often.

A word about hangovers.

Normally, one sleeps first and wakes up to the awful pounding head and the parched mouth. I've stayed awake and felt mine grow, kind of like being cast in one of those horrible fast motion Chia pet commercials.

I knew I was going to be subjected to the third degree the next day if I didn't beat her out of the house. I already knew that if I tried to sleep this off, she would only barge into the room with the vacuum and busily begin 'cleaning'. The woman's a fiend who knows no pity.

But because she's so suspicious and is an expert interrogator and has devoted her life to torturing me, I've developed a few tricks of my own. For instance: I didn't allow her to get much information out of me last night. While I maintain that I wasn't intoxicated, I wanted to make sure to Keep It Simple so as not to contradict myself when she put me to the rack today.

Soon I will flee. This is not by choice.

What I really want to do is take a flamethrower to my head and make a vow before some congregation or other that I Will Never Drink Again then sleep for a day, but I appear to have a lunch date.

My lunch date...OMG.

I got to the restaurant early because I wanted to read the Globe coverage on the rough ride that Congress is giving Bush over the proposed buyout. Although it's ridiculously crowded, I find a table. I sit down and start reading though I'm so hideously hung over that focusing is difficult.

Adam shows up and joins me. We begin to talk.

Almost immedately, the walkie talkie he's carrying crackles to life with 'Hey Dude, did that hot chick you picked up last night show up?' This inquiry is broadcast at concert volume throughout the entire restaurant.

Tune in for Part II, this week!

Ho ho OH NO!

2008-12-31T13:51:00.000-08:00

Hello all of you!

Thanks for your patience while I took a minor blogging sabbatical. I did miss it, but have been too tired to sit down and bang something out. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas/Kwanzaa/Hanukkah/Festivus/Saturnalia. I traveled to New York, as usual, to stay with my aunt M and uncle M. My uncle starts cooking Christmas dinner a full week in advance, and it is maddening to live in that house and smell the food and be constantly hungry. Compound that with my uncle's compunction to feed me constantly, and it's a recipe for intestinal failure. Constant sweets, meat, and booze wreak havoc with my GI now that I live in Cali and eat so much salad. Fiber, it is my friend. Ham, not so much! My aunt and I baked for five hours on the 23rd: magic cookie bars, chocolate raspberry bars, russian tea balls and English toffee cheesecake bars. Awesome waist enhancers! Tasty, too. I think I've mentioned before how much I love to bake. For my department Thanksgiving party, I made a devil's food cake with cream cheese frosting, which went over very well. For our Christmas party I made Ghirardelli double chocolate brownie muffins. I want my next little project to be a Kentucky butter cake; I just need an excuse to make one.

After I bugged him all week, my cousin P, a former Marine, took me to the Long Island Shooting Range in Brookhaven at the tail end of my trip and taught me to fire an M-1 carbine .30 assault rifle. It was...well, awesome, and I'm proud to say that I hit the target (100 yards away) more often than not. P (who used to train FBI agents) told me I was much better than most first timers. He was impressed by my lack of nerves. I guess I have my cop blood to thank for that. It was a rush, and if there were a perfume that smelled like gunpowder, I would probably buy it. If you've ever even been even slightly curious about going to the shooting range, find someone experienced and go with them. You will love it. Watch out freaks! Now I'm packing.

I hope you all have something enjoyable on tap for tonight. I'm going to take it easy and accompany one of my former roommates to a low-key house party. Tomorrow I'm going to the spa for a much needed massage.

Before I take off and say "see you next year," I thought I'd leave you with an amusing Christmas story from a few years back, when I was just a little puppette living in Boston.

In the late '90s, my girl Tabitha and I used to volunteer for the Snow Ball, a black tie charity event that benefits Santa Claus Anonymous (SCA), a formal non-profit fundraising organization. Santa Claus Anonymous donates over 80% of all proceeds raised from the Snow Ball to approximately 12 beneficiary organizations. As volunteers, we got in free by working the casino; we were "Money Wheel" girls and roulette girls. I don't understand blackjack well enough to deal, so I avoided that game for fear of getting it wrong and pissing off the players. It was a hoot to get prettied up, host for a few hours, drink for free, sample the hors d'oeuvres and dance it all off at the end of the night. We had the occasional wealthy financier who offered to take us on weekend trips to the Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun casinos (which we politely declined), but nothing ever happened that was vulgar or even creepy. The event was always a good time.

The last time I worked the Snow Ball, which was probably 1999 or 2000, the event was held (as it will be this year) at the Boston Park Plaza Hotel in the tony Back Bay area. In previous years, the event had been held at the World Trade Center; wherever it was, there was always a Santa volunteer on a throne in the main foyer. For a few bucks, you could get a Polaroid of yourself in Santa's lap. Tab and I had neglected to do this the year before, opting for more formal pictures in event's makeshift portrait studio, so we figured we'd pose with Santa this time.

The Santa job wasn't taken too seriously; it was usually a younger guy in a fake beard and a stuffed tissue belly. Tab, another volunteer and I crowded around Santa, with Tab in his lap, for the first picture. No problem. Then the other volunteer perched on Santa. No problem. Then it was my turn, and readers, you know there was a problem.

I gently settled myself on the inside of Santa's right thigh, closer to the knee, figuring that one must get a bit sore from having inebriated guests hopping on and off one's lap all evening. It did not occur to me at first that Santa hadn't spread his legs when he took Tabitha or the other girl onto his lap. I remember purposely planting my feet on the floor to take any extra weight off him, although I weighed maybe a buck ten at the time.

As the photographer got into position, Santa, who was maybe 30 and around 6', wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me right into his lap, lifting my feet off the floor. It was pretty quick and felt claustrophobic, so I reacted by trying to wiggle forward. It was around that time that I noticed Santa's quickly expanding yule log.

"Smile!"

Good lord. The flash went off and I jumped up like my ass was on fire. Nobody had warned me that I was going to get a Secret Santa gift!

The Story of Stuff

2008-12-01T10:11:00.000-08:00

Something to think about as you shop for holiday gifts.
Hat tip: Sage.

Happy Turkey Day

2008-11-26T13:32:00.000-08:00

I hope you all have a lovely holiday...I'm traveling, but should have time to put up a new post by Monday. In the meantime, enjoy clips from some of my favorite Thanksgiving movies. They're all worth renting while you're in a food coma this weekend!

Hannah and Her Sisters:

Home for the Holidays:

The House of Yes:

The Ice Storm:

Planes, Trains and Automobiles:

Finally, I'll include Clue, which is not a Thanksgiving movie per se, just one of my personal favorites to watch while I'm curled up on the couch nursing my food baby.

Happy Holidays!

I feel cheap.

2008-11-19T16:12:00.000-08:00

I was thinking ten grand, at least...apparently I have too high an opinion of myself.
$4790.00

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Dating Site

The Onion is The Awesome.

2008-11-18T13:42:00.000-08:00

Attractive Girls Union Refuses To Enter Into Talks With Mike Greenman
Hat tip: Pandagon.

How was your Saturday?

2008-11-17T13:49:00.000-08:00

Mine was productive:

Yes readers, I was in that crowd of 12,000 on a very hot (95 degrees!) California day, marching to protest the passing of Prop 8. It was amazing, actually. The crowd was very diverse, people brought their children, the speeches were moving and the whole mood of the day was just...really good. I was proud to have been there, heatstroke and all.

Sadly, the march was slightly overshadowed by our yearly natural disaster, otherwise known as fire season:

Can you believe it? I could smell the fires in my home with the windows and doors shut. A friend of mine, who lives in Culver City, had ash raining down on him as he ran errands Sunday morning. Los Angeles has been a wild place to live lately.

I know I owe you all some freak stories; I've been very political (and lazy) lately. They're coming; sadly, I've still got plenty left. Till then, enjoy Wanda Sykes pontificating on gay marriage:

March image courtesy of Gay Socialites.
Fire image by Getty Images.

UPDATE: Hey, Catholics? Coming from someone who was raised Catholic, feel free to join the 21st century. You will not burst into flames, I swear to god!

"Hey kids, get out of the garage. Mom needs some time alone with the S-80."

2008-11-14T13:59:00.001-08:00

Remembrance

2008-11-11T17:10:00.000-08:00

In less warm and fuzzy news, more female vets are homeless than ever.
Hat tip: Ginmar.

No further comment needed.

2008-11-11T09:47:00.001-08:00

Hat tip: Jezebel.

Damn, I'm tougher than I thought!

2008-11-07T18:18:00.001-08:00

Friday funny (and true)

2008-11-07T16:58:00.000-08:00

I just love Pajiba, the movie review and pop culture website. It features a very funny series called Pajiba's Guide to Getting You Laid, which is frankly hysterical. The latest installment, I Am The Clit Commander!, is written by the Pajibettes and geared towards bepenised readers who would like new tips on how to approach women. The entry begins thusly:

We know better than anyone that all women are different, so we are going to introduce to you different species of the most intriguing creatures of humanity and guide you through what works for us - when aunt Flo isn’t in town.

A very good start, no question. This particular section had me in stitches:

Species: The Mid-to-Late 30s Career Woman
Where you can find her: The Grocery Store, Sur Le Table, Your Office
How to approach her: Side note, guys — before doing anything, check for a ring. I repeatedly hear men my age and younger say they don’t even think to look for a ring. Baffling. Unless you’re just practicing hitting on a woman, scope out the left hand first.

She’s probably heard all the lines before, so you’re going to have to get creative. Humor usually works and depending on the woman, the helpless act can get you some attention. What doesn’t work? Obvious flattery or overt innuendo. Originality and Subtly are your friends.

Ask for her opinion on wine, spices, cheese, or baking items. Don’t ask opinions on vegetables (yes, we’ve all heard how big your cucumber/zucchini/jalapeno is. Please see above for originality) and avoid making small talk about stomach remedies or feminine products you’re buying for your mom. Offering to carry a heavy box for us will get you bonus points. Yes, equal opportunity is great, but we still like having a man carry heavy stuff for us.

This chick’s unlikely to hook up with you after your first encounter, but you’re probably a shoe-in to get digits and arrange a date. We’re liable to think you’re just a nice guy and aren’t really hitting on us unless you make the first overture toward a date. Don’t be fooled by the “unwed by choice” older woman. We’re not all in a race to sink our claws in to get us a husband and Baby-On-Board sign for our mini-vans. We’ve been around the block and are quite comfortable being on our own, but sometimes we want a little sump’n, sump’n, too. Know what I’m sayin’?

If you’re lucky enough to get the call to the Majors - hang on tight. Women in their 30s and 40s tend to be more comfortable with their bodies and their sexuality. We don’t mind telling you what we want and making sure that you’re getting what you need. When everyone’s done and satisfied, you don’t need to spend the night, but don’t trip over your pants running out the door. We enjoy basking in the afterglow, light cuddling and talking a bit. If you’re good at this part too, you can bet you’ll be added to the speed dial in her cell phone.

My name is Ginger, and I approve this message. Read the whole thing if you'd also like to learn how to hit on other female species, such as the 22-year old intellectual disguised with sparkly makeup, the emotional ugly duckling, and the punk chick. It's all very entertaining and well written.

The Cutness is coming to get you. Resistance is futile.

2008-11-07T14:50:00.000-08:00

Behold, The Godson. How cute is he??

I know, I'm hardly objective. I have to give him big props for choosing the coolest character in the entire Star Wars lexicon for his Halloween costume. He's also very happy that Obama won the election.

Cool, gorgeous, funny and politically savvy! He takes after his godmother.

His mom emailed me to let me know that he has a girlfriend. He might have more than one; apparently he came home with two love notes this week. Naturally, this does not surprise me. I'm mostly just happy that he's friends with, and hangs out with, both girls and boys, still innocent of the deeper intrigues that overshadow and influence modern gender relations. That won't last much longer, of course. I jokingly emailed back that it's almost time for a "birds and bees talk," and inquired as to which parent would be handling that job. Suzi is adamant that it won't be her.

I remember having that talk with my mother when I was nine years old (if it were up to my father, I would probably still be ignorant about the bump and grind). Mom was an early developer who found blood in her panties at age nine, passing out in a Catholic school bathroom stall immediately after. She wanted to spare her own daughters the frightening experience of mysterious panty blood. She gave me one of those illustrated paperback books - you know, the ones with titles like "Your Growing Body," and had me read it. Then she explained the act of sex to me in very simple terms, making it very clear that what she had just described was, in fact, the reason for my existence, and hers, and everybody else's. Then we had a question and answer session, which was both horrifying and fascinating to my nine year old self. Thinking back, she was really very progressive. I have a feeling that it was more difficult for her to tell me that there was no Santa.

I remember my first love note, too; I got it in the first grade, when I was two years younger than my godson is now. It was left on my desk by Chris, a cute blond boy from my neighborhood that I was friendly with. We took the same bus to school. He was more of a jock; I was one of those weird kids who had learned to read by age three and used words like "asphalt," "landscaper" and "realm" in everyday speech. I taught myself to write in script by tracing my mother's handwritten letters, so I was able to read my fellow students' report cards aloud to them. First Grade Teacher was a battle-axe who had started her career in a one-room schoolhouse at the age of nineteen, and she was particularly hard on Chris for some reason. He was not a bad kid, but he was an overactive, fidgety type, which I could sympathize with, being antsy myself. When report cards came around, Chris appreciated knowing what his parents were going to be reading ahead of time.

One day, I got to my desk after lunch to find a sheet of looseleaf folded into a small square. Chris had scrawled "I Love You" inside, in black crayon. I took the note home and kept it in the drawer of my night table. I think I kissed him on the cheek once before the end of the school year. We were nice to each other. It was simple. Of course, second grade rolled around soon enough, and all was forgotten.

Years later, though, we got to talking in high school and he said, "You know, you were my first girlfriend." We laughed about it. Later on, I related the story to my mother, who went through her hope chest and pulled out Chris' love note, which she had saved. Being a teenager, I was embarrassed, of course.

But it really was sweet. And simple.

Here's hoping that change really has come to America.

2008-11-05T09:30:00.000-08:00

Click for a larger view.

A have a bit of a post-election hangover today. I'm thrilled, but I can't talk about it any more, so this will be a short post.

It wasn't a complete victory last night; Proposition 8 was passed. There are plenty of bigots in my so-called liberal state. Proposition 4 was defeated, which is no small victory for women's rights. Also, in an underreported development, record numbers of women will be serving in the next Congress. We're moving in the right direction slowly, but we are moving!
UPDATE: SOB.
ANOTHER UPDATE: (again, click for larger view)

Hat tip: Slate.
YET ANOTHER UPDATE: the future of America:

Election Day

2008-11-04T10:32:00.000-08:00

Artist: Gil Elvgren
Title: "It's Up To You" (1958)
Hat tip: Vintage Ads

SoCal turns out to vote.
UPDATE: What if it's a tie? This is fascinating. I've learned so much about my government and its processes this year, I feel like I'm a better American as a result, no matter what happens.
ANOTHER UPDATE: Single women are this election's holy grail.

So much for Joan.

2008-11-03T18:12:00.000-08:00

Here's Rita.

Here's a close up of the hair.

Didn't my hairdresser do an amazing job? She used the photo from my previous post. I actually had a few people ask me if my hair was a wig. It was bulletproof, and took me forever to wash out, but lasted all night through humidity and dancing. I was amazed at how much shorter my hair was after all that curling and sculpting. It looked like four inches had been trimmed off.

Joan will have to wait until next year, assuming that Mad Men remains as kick-ass as it is right now. Otherwise, I'll have to find a new redhead for Halloween 2009. A friend joked that I should aim for Red Sonja:

Kick ass woman? Check.

Red hair? Check.

Costume?! Ummmm. I'd have to work out every day until next Halloween. I like bagels too much.

Going down

2008-10-31T10:13:00.000-07:00

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,

2008-10-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-10-29T14:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-29T10:24:00.000-07:00

Hat tip: Feministe.

Wisdom from Dudeville

2008-10-24T17:46:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-10-24T12:53:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-10-23T16:56:00.000-07:00

See more Ron Howard videos at Funny or Die

Halloweenies

2008-10-16T17:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-15T10:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-15T10:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-10-12T20:10:00.000-07:00

"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.

2008-10-06T09:58:00.000-07:00

OY.

2008-10-02T21:29:00.000-07:00

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

The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo.

Gosh darnit!

2008-10-02T20:25:00.001-07:00

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."

I weep for womanity

2008-09-30T18:25:00.000-07:00

JESUS CHRIST ON A CRACKER.

Watch CBS Videos Online
Hat tip: Shakesville.

Criticizing a female candidate based on her experience and beliefs is NOT sexist, folks.

2008-09-30T11:36:00.001-07:00

I don't want to be played by the girl-strings anymore. Shaking our heads and wringing our hands in sympathy with Sarah Palin is a disservice to every woman who has ever been unfairly dismissed based on her gender, because this is an utterly fair dismissal, based on an utter lack of ability and readiness. It's a disservice to minority populations of every stripe whose place in the political spectrum has been unfairly spotlighted as mere tokenism; it is a disservice to women throughout this country who have gone from watching a woman who -- love her or hate her -- was able to show us what female leadership could look like to squirming in front of their televisions as they watch the woman sent to replace her struggle to string a complete sentence together.

Read the rest here.

If we don't laugh, we'll cry, right?

2008-09-30T10:07:00.001-07:00

"Vote for the guy with one house...he's afraid of losing it."

2008-09-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

Wanda and Dave in '08!

2008-09-25T10:21:00.000-07:00

ALSO WATCH:
Letterman PUMMELING McCain.

A Leader Who Loves Us - an essay by Alice Walker

2008-09-24T13:44:00.000-07:00

Just read it. My favorite paragraphs:

The present administration and too many others before it have shown the most clear and unapologetic hatred for the American people. A contempt for our minds, our bodies and souls that is so breathtaking most Americans have numbed themselves not to feel it. How can they do this or that awful unthinkable thing, we ask ourselves and each other, knowing no one in power will ever bother to answer us. I'm sure we, the American people, are the butt of jokes by those in power. Our suffering not making a dent in their pursuit of goals that almost always bring more tragedy and degradation to our already fragile, disintegrating republic.

When we are offered a John McCain, who is too old for the job (and I cherish old age and old men but not to lead the world when it is ailing), or a George Bush, or a Sarah Palin, how unloved we are as Americans becomes painfully plain. McCain talks of war with the nostalgia and forgetfulness of the very elderly; Palin talks of forcing the young to have offspring they neither want nor can sustain; both of them feel at ease, apparently, with the game in which their candidacy becomes more of a topic of discussion than whether the planet has a future under their leadership.

This essay was published in the British Guardian; it should be on the front page of every American paper in the nation.

Turns out that Sarah Palin and I do actually have one thing in common...

2008-09-23T16:23:00.001-07:00

...she's a freak magnet too.

Hat tip: Politico

"Remember - if you give your bathtub spout a handjob, it doesn't increase your number!"

2008-09-22T13:42:00.000-07:00

Yeah, more politics

2008-09-22T10:23:00.000-07:00

But it's a fantastic Monday morning read. My favorite part:

GET ANGRIER! Call them liars, because that’s what they are. Sarah Palin didn’t say “thanks but no thanks” to the Bridge to Nowhere. She just said “Thanks.” You were raised by a single mother on food stamps — where does a guy with eight houses who was legacied into Annapolis get off calling you an elitist? And by the way, if you do nothing else, take that word back. Elite is a good word, it means well above average. I’d ask them what their problem is with excellence. While you’re at it, I want the word “patriot” back. McCain can say that the transcendent issue of our time is the spread of Islamic fanaticism or he can choose a running mate who doesn’t know the Bush doctrine from the Monroe Doctrine, but he can’t do both at the same time and call it patriotic. They have to lie — the truth isn’t their friend right now. Get angry. Mock them mercilessly; they’ve earned it. McCain decried agents of intolerance, then chose a running mate who had to ask if she was allowed to ban books from a public library. It’s not bad enough she thinks the planet Earth was created in six days 6,000 years ago complete with a man, a woman and a talking snake, she wants schools to teach the rest of our kids to deny geology, anthropology, archaeology and common sense too? It’s not bad enough she’s forcing her own daughter into a loveless marriage to a teenage hood, she wants the rest of us to guide our daughters in that direction too? It’s not enough that a woman shouldn’t have the right to choose, it should be the law of the land that she has to carry and deliver her rapist’s baby too? I don’t know whether or not Governor Palin has the tenacity of a pit bull, but I know for sure she’s got the qualifications of one. And you’re worried about seeming angry? You could eat their lunch, make them cry and tell their mamas about it and God himself would call it restrained. There are times when you are simply required to be impolite. There are times when condescension is called for!

Hat tip: Feministe.

I approve this message. In fact, I think it is awesome.

2008-09-19T17:06:00.001-07:00

Here's an oldie but goodie. I promise, I'll have more freak stories soon. Wish I could say I've run out, but that just won't happen.

You know what the difference is between George W. Bush and Sarah Palin? LIPSTICK.

2008-09-15T19:10:00.000-07:00

Friday funny, feminism

2008-09-12T14:23:00.000-07:00

Weird Al - Amish Paradise and White and Nerdy. Videos not embeddable - sorry!

Sarah Palin might want to watch this clip:

RH Reality Check: Does Personhood Start At Fertilization? from RH Reality Check on Vimeo.
Hat tip: Pandagon.

The state of our union

2008-09-11T09:57:00.000-07:00

I'm just feeling cynical and fatigued today.

Suicide Attempts for Vets Jump 500% in Five Years, and Government Ignores It.

U.S. Military Is Keeping Secrets About Female Soldiers' 'Suicides'

"They keep telling the lies so that eventually people will forget the truth, forget that we're still fighting two wars. We haven't won anything, not peace, not resolution, not honor."

"It's like a bad Disney movie...I really need to know if she thinks dinosaurs were here 4000 years ago." Matt Damon on Sarah Palin:

I'm with you, Matt. I'm sick of the spin, spin, spin. At least Chris Matthews finally took the Refugs to task for their bullshit:

I want America back.

Sorry for my absence!

2008-09-08T18:14:00.001-07:00

I traveled back east last week to visit friends and family, and decided to make my trip as technology-free as I could. No checking my email, no blogging. I needed a break. I got to see and stay with various friends and family members, traveling from the Hudson Valley to Long Island. I got to see my 7-year-old godson, and take him to the bus stop on his first day of second grade.

GS (godson) is so tall now that the top of his head reaches my shoulder. He says he loves the second grade so much that he's going to have dreams about it. His mom Suzi and I took him to play miniature golf, took him hiking on the Appalachian trail, and played lots of Wii golf and bowling with him. He read books to me before going to bed and says he likes to sweat 'because then I can spike my hair out.' He has Queen and Madonna on his MP3 player, loves showing me tricks on his Razor scooter and cuddling on the couch. I'm enjoying the attention while it lasts; I figure I've got six or seven more good years, tops, before he's a teenager who wants nothing to do with me. Of course I adore him, but running around after a 7-year-old all week, even one as cute as my adorable golden-haired GS, will make anyone contemplate sterilization a few times. Kids are work, people. Props to all you parents out there, and especially to Suzi, who runs a household that includes her son, her husband, her mother-in-law, her husband's nephew and a 12-year-old Siberian Husky named Aida.

I have to say that kids do provide many of life's more entertaining moments. Suzi, her husband and I took GS to the local Dairy Queen one night after dinner. GS is a big fan of DQ's Cotton Candy ice cream (it's blue!). On our way back, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody was playing on the radio. I sat in the back seat with GS, who kept his left arm wound through my right and leaned his head against my shoulder as he finished his half-eaten cone. Suzi and I were having a conversation as her husband drove, and she turned the music down so I could hear her better.

GS stopped eating and sat up. "Who turned the music down?"

"I did, bud," Suzi said.

GS was indignant. "You don't turn down the music while I'm rocking out!" he exclaimed.

I just about died.

A few days later, apropos of nothing, he got exasperated and asked, "What kind of a world are we living in? I need to move to another one," followed by a big sigh. I repeat, the kid is 7.

Hurricane Hanna hit the northeast on Saturday, and it was insanely humid for the entire previous week. I suffered some very bad hair days, readers. It was like a cross between one of those little Troll dolls and the Bride of Frankenstein. I had a constant slick of oil on my face. We all felt as if we were melting each afternoon. When you're perpetually soaked through to the skin with your own sweat, a costume change is in order, sometimes twice in one day. If humidity were a threat to national security, we would have been at DEFCON 1. I am completely spoiled by the omnipresent central air that Angelenos cannot live without.

All of my hosts, who know very well that I use my own oven for storage, generously fell over themselves to provide me with home cooking, which I of course appreciated; however, I had forgotten how much New Yorkers love their red meat. As wonderful as it was to be waited on like an empress of Rome, grilling steak every day in that humidity, without air conditioning, made makeup, deodorant and even clothing almost pointless. My very determined uncle, who is not happy unless I am eating, had planned to barbecue filet mignon for me, and Hurricaine Hanna did not deter him. He grilled outside in a downpour with a handheld umbrella. Best mignon I ever had. I needed some Crisco and a shoehorn to get into my skinny jeans on Sunday morning.

I know I sound like I'm complaining, but I'm doing it with a wink. Sometimes, when work is overwhelming and I'm dealing with some unimportant drama, I forget that my life is an embarrassment of riches. I get to go home and spend my time with some truly wonderful people. I get to have New York pizza and cheesecake!

Yesterday I called Suzi to jokingly ask what they'd had for dinner that night. It was pizza. I was jealous.

GS grabbed the phone from his mom when he found out that I was on the line. "I love you," he whispered very softly, a secret just between us. It made me ache to hug him again. He handed the phone back to his mom before I could reply and ran back to his Wii.

I won't miss the pounds I'm going to lose now that I'm home. I will miss the people, though.

NEWS FLASH: Republicans have discovered sexism...

2008-09-08T18:04:00.000-07:00

...but it's only bad when it happens to them.

Dreamy

2008-08-28T09:39:00.001-07:00

I've posted before about how I'm not particularly enamoured of men with Oedipus complexes. That's just me, of course. Women have all kinds of tastes, and if you're the overly nurturing, wounded type, this gem may be just what you're looking for! Click to read.

He's all yours, ladies.

Hat tip: Shakesville.

No vacancy

2008-08-26T18:54:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday night, I met my ex-roomie Sherri on Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade for dinner and a catching-up session. Sherri and I only lived together for about 8 months, and were both so busy that we barely got to know each other during that time. Interestingly, we have gotten very close since she moved out. She's a fascinating woman; she grew up in South America as a privileged daughter of a banker, and moved to Los Angeles so she could learn to make it on her own. She once emphasized to me that at home, she'd had bodyguards, drivers, and maids, which sounds wonderful but deprives one of certain survival skills. She's trilingual (Spanish, English, French), which I envy. She was kidnapped and held for ransom as a child, which she talks about so matter-of-factly that it's as though she's telling you a story she heard from someone else. Younger than me by two years, she's already been married and divorced. It's funny that two women who are so diametrically opposed on paper have so much to say to each other, but hey, this is America.

Since it was such a nice night, we strolled around and browsed the stores of the Promenade for a while afterwards.

Walking to our cars, we passed three or four men sitting on the sidewalk, asking for change. "Hey man, got any change? Got a quarter? Can you help me out, lady?" They called out to each passer by in front of us.

Sherri was barely paying attention, looking out into the street. One of the guys made eye contact with me and yelled out, "Hey, I need a place to stay tonight!" Startled, Sherri jumped a little.

"What is it he said?" she asked as we passed. "All I hear is, 'tonight'."

"He told me he needed a place to stay," I chuckled.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is they're wanting from us..."

"...they're not getting," I laughed.

"Strange men," she shook her head. Well, those are everywhere.

Needless to say, I went home alone.

What should Ginger do?

2008-08-21T18:51:00.000-07:00

Peeps, I am in love with Mad Men; it's one of the greatest shows on television, and let's face it, we were all waiting for somebody to fill the old Sopranos Sunday night spot with some quality. The clothes! The writing! The unflinching portrayals of complicated characters who present a perfect image and fall apart trying to keep it together! I am in heaven.

For reasons that I'm sure are obvious, Joan is my favorite character. Redhead solidarity! She's very accurately described as "...a complicated, guarded survivor in an era that wasn't kind to women with professional ambitions." (Has anything changed? End sarcasm). On a totally superficial note, she's inspiring me to wear more color. I tend to avoid brighter colors in my wardrobe for fear that they'll make me look like a human sherbet, but I think I'm going to start rocking yellows, pinks and reds.

Every year, I look for a famous redhead to be for Halloween. Past costumes include:

Catwoman

Jessica Rabbit

and Ginger, (of course).

I was having trouble finding a redheaded icon for this year's festivities. I supposed I could be Wilma, but I'd need a Fred...I was considering Lucille Ball or Lizzie Borden, either of which could be really fun. But now I've found Joan...the pressure's off! I just need to find period clothes and a pen on a chain, and I'm good to go.

I've added "What Would Joan Holloway Do?" to my blogroll. Maybe I should change my icon to this?

What do you think, does my image need another update?

Go away, part whatever

2008-08-20T09:39:00.000-07:00

Hey, dude (I'm quite sure you are a dude) who inexplicably wound up at my blog by Googling "raped redhead woman":

Back away from the porn, wash the jizz from your hands and go to this blog instead. Followed by this blog. Finish up by reading this no doubt dead-on description of yourself.

I'm not advertising, but you're selling anyway

2008-08-20T09:25:00.001-07:00

Walking to Borders books last night, I passed a man coming out of a falafel restaurant. He was white, probably in his 60s, was wearing dingy clothes and looked drunk.

He eyed me up and down, then held out a small can of Mace in a broken blister pack. "Pepper spray, miss," he said, "for your protection."

"No thanks," I smiled. "I have a gun."

I didn't, but it stopped him following me.

Happy period control!

2008-08-11T09:48:00.000-07:00

I'll post again soon, I swear. In the meantime, here's the new Sarah Haskins Target: Women video. Enjoy!

Hat tip: Feministe

Random awesomeness

2008-07-31T13:36:00.001-07:00

Came across this song on someone else's iTunes at work. Not sure why it struck me so hard today, but I am kind of loving it.

W stands for wanker!

2008-07-31T10:25:00.000-07:00

Bush threatens to veto equal pay for women.

If you don't know what the Paycheck Fairness Act is, check it out here. This is what Bush wants to do away with.

Well, at least I never voted for that asshole.

Hat tip: Shakespeare's Sister.

All shook up

2008-07-29T19:52:00.000-07:00

We had ourselves a little earthquake today...well, not so little. It was actually the biggest one I've experienced since moving here. I was at work when it started. At first, I thought the guys I sit with were fucking around and pushing the table that our computers are on. Then I realized that the lights hanging from the ceiling were swaying back and forth. A couple of things fell off their shelves. Our building stands on pylons, so we swayed and bounced like we were in a boat on choppy water for about 20 seconds. I thought I was going to puke, so I got up out of my chair and started pacing. When the shaking stopped, I walked to the outside deck to call my dad.

It was quite a shaker...even the natives were rattled. Never fear, your favorite blogger is still in one piece!

I'll update soon, but until then, enjoy this little gem I found through Jezebel.

Friday awesomeness

2008-07-25T15:03:00.001-07:00

Hat tip: Jezebel.

Bigger, fuller, bouncier*: Ginger hosts the 61st Carnival of Feminists

2008-07-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

STEP RIGHT UP and git' yer feminism, kids! We got all kinds o' feminism here. We got radical feminism! We got second wave feminism! We got third wave feminism! We got pro-feminist men! We got religious feminists! We got sex worker feminists! We got ever' kinda feminist, 'cause as all feminists know, we ain't no monolithic group that's gotta agree on ever' damn thang. There's room for ever'body at this here booth, so step right up and claim yer prize!

Man, my accent sucks. Aw, hell, just read!

AIN'T NOTHIN' GOIN' ON BUT THE 'RENTS

SnarkScribe gets the party started with a post about how mothers worry about their daughters' marital status (no matter what that may be).

And you said that in front of my daughters?!! is a must-read by Deborah of In a strange land.

Do you think you're Pretty Every Day?

Romeo Vitelli of Providentia gives us all a lesson in severely twisted family dynamics.

In her post Shades of Home, Hobo Stripper reminisces about a conversation with her very practical, tough-as-nails mom.

Alankrita of Real Virtuality takes on the burden of being female.

Renee of Womanist Musings asks, Whose Children Count?

One day, we decide to grow up. Amazing.

ANYTHING YOU CAN DO, I CAN DO BETTER

Anybody who loves to travel needs to read this post! Shaula of Your Mileage May Vary congratulates the publishers of a new women's travel magazine called Galavanting.

In a post called He Blinded Me with (Title IX and) Science, Rose O'Malley of Womenstake.org discusses the compliance reviews that are now taking place in science and engineering programs.

As someone who works in Hollywood, I've had to deal with the fact that the industry isn't exactly female-centric (or even female-friendly, sometimes). I recently became addicted to the insightful and informative Women & Hollywood blog. Melissa contributed a wonderful post called Mamma Mia - Feminist Creative Power on Film.

Lynne asks, Where Have All The Movie Actresses Gone?

Veronica from Moms On Issues wrote a very educational post about sexist country clubs.

In sports news, Veronica from Viva La Feminista deals with gender essentialism here.

Daily Dalia asks, what's up with the "woman firefighter" label, anyway?

IF YOU'RE ADVERTISING, YOU MUST BE SELLING

In a post called On Ownership, Sage of Persephone's Box waxes philosophical about bodily integrity.

Interrobang made me cringe - and laugh out loud - with a post called The "Harass Me" Sign Musta Been Lit Again.

In her post Bloke Coke, Rachel of A Second Thought explains why she's had it up to here with soft drink advertising.

The Pinup Blog offers some perfect examples of what Rachel's talking about. Possibly NSFW - post contains some nudity.

It's the Attack of the Vintage Movie Poster!

Andrea, a fantastic young writer who blogs at The Nerd, contributes Who's to Blame? Proof positive that the next wave will handle itself just fine.

How it ought to be is a thought-provoking post by Grace, a blogger that I recently discovered during a bout of insomniac websurfing. This blog is very NSFW - not because of its content, but because you'll get sucked in and your boss will fire you for slacking! Some people write with such honest feeling that you can't stop reading. BTW, happy birthday, Grace!

DICKLESS?!

Before the Kyle Payne bomb dropped, I thought that this would be an ironically funny title for a section that was supposed to deal with men's contributions to the feminist movement. Are men welcome, and to what point? What are the pros and cons of being a profeminist man? Well, 'Paynegate' happened, and now "Dickless" has taken on a whole new meaning. I wish I had a greater variety of topics, but the issues of male allies, trust and betrayal are important. So here's some perspective on it, from both men and women alike.

Hugo Schwyzer has some thoughts on men, accountability, and the lesson of Kyle Payne.

Physioprof also has a few choice words for Payne in his post, Wackaloon Male Feminist Sex Criminal.

Belledame from Fetch Me My Axe has really been keeping on top of 'Paynegate' - here's a thorough post rife with good linkage.

Marcella at abyss2hope has a bit more faith in men than Kathleen Parker does.

Finally, because the bepenised section of this Carnival is a little light, some Joss Whedon goodness:

COULD YOU PLEASE STOP BREATHING MY AIR?

Lisa Kansas of PunkAss Blog gets a standing ovation for this post, which is my personal favorite of this Carnival: NO MATTER WHAT YOU ARE DOING IN TERMS OF MOTHERHOOD AND CAREER, YOU'RE WRONG! Rinse, repeat. Got that, girls?!

Ain't I A Woman? YES.

Renegade Evolution has a small request. Sex work is a very polarizing topic among feminists, and sex workers need to be a part of that discussion. You may agree with her, or you may not, but she'll make you think. You should also check out her post on vanilla privilege.

Lost Clown from Angry for a Reason takes on internalized sexism in this post.

Fannie has something important to say about The (White Man's) "Making of America."

Debbie from body impolitic would love it if people would stop blaming the activists, already.

Aputhebird discusses the intersection of gender, caste and class.

IT'S NOT FUN, BUT IT'S FUNNY!

Mad Kane says, Wham! Bam! No Thank You, Phil Gramm!

LOL Feminist talks about a study that measured the impact of sexist humor.

MissPrism questions the alarmist name of a common product line.

Liz of Library Tavern is the last feminist standing against rape jokes.

Could somebody please help me pull the homing beacon out of my ass?

Finally, if you haven't heard this yet, you need to. Just don't eat while you're listening, because you'll choke to death laughing! Thanks to Ashley, one of my readers, for sending it in.

ARE YOU THERE, GODDESS? IT'S ME, GINGER.

Christian Feminist of A Christian Feminist Journey contemplates God's desire for liberation from oppression in this post.

Hobo Stripper has a conversation with God in the titty bar.

Adam of Daylight Atheism reviews Ayaan Hirsi Ali's book, Infidel.

Finally, I'd like to direct everybody's attention to a fairly new blog called Adolescence By Day. It's wonderfully written by R. Skye...who just graduated the 8th grade. I read a couple of posts before I realized how young she is, and just about fell out of my chair. I suppose the name of her blog should have tipped me off, but I'm a bit dim at the end of a workday. I put her in my 'faith' section because it just felt right...I suppose I had more of it at her age. Give R. Skye a visit and lend your support!

MEN ARE FROM EARTH, WOMEN ARE FROM EARTH

Lisa Kansas of PunkAss Blog tells a harrowing personal account of childhood sexual bullying. It's a poignant illustration of gender role indoctrination.

In Refuse Thy Name??, Sally from Jump Off The Bridge writes about how annoying it is that men never have to think about changing their names when they marry.

Speaking of marriage, earlgreyrooibos has some commentary on that.

Genevieve just wants somebody to wake her up when it's all over, and I don't blame her!

Finally, Professorwhatif wonders what would change if we gave up the "top model" paradigm.

Ullaí mná!
Well done, everyone! I said that I wanted this Carnival to be bigger and badder than the last one, and it sure is, thanks to all the amazing bloggers who contributed. I really hope I didn't forget anybody - please forgive me if I did. Every submission that I got was sterling, and I tried to include each one.

I hope you enjoyed reading - now you'll have to spend days and days updating your blogrolls! That was my plan all along! Insert evil laughter here!

Don't forget me, now. Come back and visit!

*Why yes, the post title is a spoof of the South Park movie. Aren't you smart!
Cartoons courtesy of some_ecards.

The next Carnival of Feminists will be hosted at Rage Against the Man-chine.

Psych!

2008-07-22T10:47:00.001-07:00

So sorry to those of you who clocked in today because you thought the Carnival of Feminists went up. I briefly posted it last night to do a final check of how it looked, then took it down. It will be up tomorrow, and it's a biggie, so check back!

Cartoon courtesy of xkcd.

Sarah Haskins wants you to feed your f#*@ing family!

2008-07-21T17:25:00.000-07:00

Hat tip: Feministing.

For the millionth time

2008-07-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

Can't we do better than this?

Leave the dolphins out of it!

2008-07-21T13:28:00.001-07:00

Somebody Googled "funny red head all you bitches want to flog my dolphin" and my blog was at the top of the results page.

Uh, Number One?! Yay.

For the last time, I haven't got much back there!

2008-07-21T13:07:00.000-07:00

Regular readers already know that I have a magic ass. I'm sure you'll all be happy to read that its powers are as strong as ever!

Saturday night, I went to GLOW '08 with my friends Liz and Melissa. After wandering the beach and pier of Santa Monica, pushing our way through the million people who had shown up to this dusk-till-dawn festival, we made our way down Ocean Avenue to my car.

We stopped at the corner of Ocean and Wilshire to wait for the light to change. I was immediately approached by a tall, skinny, greasy, completely high homeless dude who stopped about two paces in front of me, blocking my way. He stared, smirking.

All three of us ladies took a step back in unison.

"Why?!" I exclaimed out loud, throwing up my hands as I turned away. I truly have no explanation for these incidents, unless I have a Loser Homing Beaon implanted in one of my butt cheeks. There I was, surrounded by younger, more toned, more exposed females, but I'm the one this guy comes after. I was not in the mood. It was one in the morning; I was tired and uninterested in being polite. I retreated behind my friends. CHANGE, light!! Goddam, this is the longest traffic light in history.

Unwashed Weirdo took another step forward. Melissa backed up so fast that she bumped into me.

The light finally changed, and we quickly skirted around UW into the intersection.

"Good evening, Bootylicious," he said as I passed him.

You see, good people, I'm not single because I can't attract men. My onion is a homing beacon for some choice specimens. It's just that those specimens aren't clean. Or sober. Or sane.

Lord of the dance

2008-07-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

This is the best way to start the week that I can think of.

TGIF

2008-07-18T18:47:00.000-07:00

Found this online today, and loved it. I copied and pasted it as I found it. Enjoy and have a great weekend!

'Havent you seen her'?! They all say
'The redheaded woman with the sexy sway'
'Yes Ive seen her' one man cries
'the ultimate enigma with large blue eyes'
'she made me catch my breath' one man speaks.
'Ive dreamt of women like her in my sleep'
Then in she walks, all eyes upon her.
They all want to speak to her, but no-one dares.
Her copper locks glisten in the light.
Her milky skin glows like the moon at night.
She owns the room but unaware
of the reaction she causes or the lengthly stares.
Men want her, women want to be her.
They all want the woman with the fiery red hair!

by Victoria - a fellow redhead

My crush on Kristin Schaal keeps growing.

2008-07-18T09:38:00.000-07:00

I get it, society - women who have passed their sell-by date (which is around 21 at this point, I think), should not be sexual beings. The stupid "cougar" label is something I've had to deal with from the occasional young ignoramus patriarchy peddler, and I'm only in my thirties! Thankfully, Kristin Schaal takes the whole concept to task on The Daily Show. Happy Friday!

Hat Tip: Gawker.

Hot Pockets!

2008-07-16T10:18:00.000-07:00

Readers, I'm busy putting the next Carnival of Feminists together. In the meantime, I'll be putting up little posts, and maybe another installment of Ginger Revealed.

Enjoy some Jim Gaffigan today!

Time for some campaignin'

2008-07-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

The entire year's political landscape in one itty bitty cartoon!

Hat tip: Pandagon.

"I know I was supposed to be wiser, but it didn't happen for me."

2008-07-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

Michael Caine talks about his film career.

My favorite quote: "I always meet people who are living as though it's a rehearsal, and the show's going to be later. And I feel like saying, 'This is the show! This is it!"

What a guy.

Oof.

2008-07-14T14:31:00.000-07:00

We've all been there, kids. Click for full size.

Hat tip: xkcd.

The story that won't end

2008-07-14T12:18:00.000-07:00

Another female soldier murdered, probably by her husband. He's charged with arson, her body was found in the remains of a brush fire nearby. Evidence shows that her body was burned before the brush fire was set.

This is how I'm starting my week? I wish I'd stayed in bed.

UPDATE: The husband has officially been charged with murder.

Call for submissions

2008-07-09T18:13:00.000-07:00

Once again, I am beyond thrilled to be serving as a host for the Carnival of Feminists! My previous hosting gig was a blast, and I'm hoping to top it, with your help. Here are the categories I'd like to see addressed this time around:

Ain't Nothin' Goin' On But the 'Rents:
How parents, siblings and partners affect our views of our bodies, our self-worth, our abilities, our sexuality and our feminism.

Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better:
Gender essentialism and the idea that certain things come 'naturally' to the sexes.

If You're Advertising, You Must Be Selling:
Sexuality and the media. Being branded in a certain way because of how you look. The benefits and repercussions of conforming (and not conforming) to traditional interpretations of sexuality.

Dickless?
It's my personal belief that feminism necessarily involves men, but not everyone agrees. How fully should men be welcomed into feminist spaces? Can men truly be feminists? What are the benefits and difficulties of being a pro-feminist man? What men have influenced your views and experiences of feminism?

Could You Please Stop Breathing My Air?
Jockeying for position in the public sphere (work, politics, just walking down the street).

It's Not Fun, But It's Funny!
Yes, feminists have a sense of humor.

Are You There, Goddess? It's Me, Ginger.
Faith and feminism.

Men Are From Earth, Women Are From Earth:
How gender-based rules make dating, mating and relating difficult.

Don't worry too much about writing specifically for any of these topics; I'll file your post under whichever is appropriate, and I'll create a "Miscellaneous" category if it's needed.

The Carnival will be posted on July 23, so please get your entries to me by July 20. Submit your entries by using the carnival submission form, or email me directly. Step up to the plate, kids! I can't do this without you.

UPDATE: a couple of possible contributors have asked whether they can submit something they've already written. Of course you can! You don't have to write something just for the Carnival. Send me whatever you'd like to share, and I'll put it under whichever category I think is appropriate. If you'd like an example of how this works, click here.

Hat tip: Image courtesy of McMillan Digital Art.

Indignities

2008-07-07T15:24:00.000-07:00

"Tell me if you think this is weird."

Gotta love it when a conversation starts like that right out of the gate. First off, if you hear that statement, whatever the asker says or does next is going to be weird. You have been warned!

In this particular instance, my former roommate C.C. and I were chilling one night at home. She was doing her homework at the dining room table, while I lay on the floor, reading a magazine.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, rolling over onto my back.

"Brad does this weird thing when we have sex. It's this strange position...I'm not sure what he's trying to do."

"Oh." C.C. is a wonderful girl that I normally had a lot of time for, but I really, really did not need to hear such things. Brad was a regular visitor in our home; how was I supposed to keep a straight face when he was around? "Well, maybe you should talk to him about it."

"I need you to tell me if it's weird."

I raised an eyebrow. "If you think it's weird, then it is, because you're the one doing it."

"No, really. Let me show you." Before I could move, she had straddled me on the floor so that she could demonstrate Brad's unique sexual skills. I braced myself. After a minute or so of grabbing, bouncing and grinding, she dismounted.

"Come on," she said, "that's weird, right?"

It was, but not quite as weird as being humped by your roommate on your living room floor.

She's a wonder

2008-07-02T17:51:00.000-07:00

Kristin Schaal discusses the sexism that surfaced during the primaries - a hilarious clip from The Daily Show.

Hat tip: The Comic's Comic.

Adoring fans

2008-06-26T17:06:00.000-07:00

I visit a blog called Shakesville five days a week, mostly because I think Melissa McEwan is one of the best writers on the internet. Her pieces resonate with me, because she's a whip-smart, sassy broad who slings snarky humor around like no one else. She's a chick that I'd love to share a bottle of Jameson with sometime (that's an open invitation, Liss).

She's got a post up called "Because They're From Venus" that is today's required reading. I nodded my head so hard in agreement while reading it that I had to pop an aspirin afterwards. As my longtime readers know, I'm no stranger to hate mail from the occasional angry menz. Now, I've gotten plenty of friendly and flattering emails from men as well, which I appreciate, but I'm not talking about you lovelies today. Of course, I manage to have fun with the occasional heckler, but still...that sort of thing just shouldn't be happening, should it? How very rude.

Melissa discusses this phenomenon with her usual rapier wit:

I don't know what Wolfers' hate-mailers want from him, but I suspect it isn't all that different from what my hate-mailers want from me—a reaction, a show of fear, some sort of communication that we have been suitably intimidated, and, in the best case scenario, our slinking off into the ether for fear that our hate-mailers will make their dark fantasies our reality.

Wev.

Love it.

The wonders of Craig and his list

2008-06-26T17:04:00.000-07:00

Speechless.

ATTENTION DENVER READERS!

2008-06-26T14:44:00.001-07:00

Hello all,
If you live in Denver and get the chance, make sure to see I'm Through With White Girls, starting tomorrow, June 27. It's an absolutely wonderful film; you'll find a review by clicking on the title.

I know a couple of people involved with its production, so I'm helping them get the word out. It's touching, hilariously funny and different than any romantic comedy I've ever seen. I usually hate rom coms, actually, but I love this one, even after seeing it four times.

The film has won awards all over the world:
NEW VISION AWARD – Bahamas International Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Norway WT Os International Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – American Black Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Urban Mediamaker's Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Martha's Vineyard African American Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Roxbury Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Hollywood Black Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Pan African Cannes Film Festival
BEST ACTRESS – Atlanta International Film Festival
BEST ROMANTIC COMEDY – Houston Worldfest Film Festival

The film is only playing at Neighborhood Flix, in a limited run that will end on July 3. Help out my peeps and put your butts in the seats!

I promise, you won't regret it.

Female soldiers are worth more than this, part eleventy million

2008-06-25T11:43:00.000-07:00

The LaVena Johnson case.