February 8, 2008

Throwing A Bone

I've been flying low low low under the radar. Mostly I have been busy drinking too much, losing track of my panties, and falling down on dicks that any self-respecting girl of a certain age and station in life should steer clear of when drunk and falling down on things. Stumbling home reeking of liquor, cigarettes, and sin. It is shameful, I tell you. I am a disgrace. Fun, though.

It would seem that this weekend, I'll be doing a little celebrating in advance of the 38th anniversary of the day I first drew breath. I'm starting tonight by going to the opening reception for the book, "Love Song: Erotic Photographs" by Arnold Skolnick. He's a pretty superfantastic artist with a remarkable resume and is the dude who designed the dove and guitar poster for the Woodstock wing-ding back in the 60's. My big sister occasionally models for him (she's beautiful and a good model because she's a yoga teacher. Thus, by definition, a poser). More importantly, Arnold is a real swell guy. You should look him up and see some of his art. Lovely stuff, friends. Lovely stuff.

This may be a hit and run post. I may find time in my busy schedule of defiling and debauching myself to post more often. Either way, know that I am thinking about all you sweeties all the time. XXX

January 12, 2008

Hell in a Handbasket

Hokay . . . So!

Even though my blogging credibility will lose ground in the eyes of Old Knudsen, I’m daring to post a video that has made me laugh my fool ass off for years now. You may have seen it, but if not, you are in for a treat.

They tell me that the political climate is heating up and that someday soon, there will be an election for the new Chief Whore of the Free World. People are in a lather about who is the best whore in each party and whatnot. Republicans are in a tizzy about a Democrat getting into office and taking all their money away and enabling poor people and foreigners to live with some dignity. Democrats fear that Republicans will maintain the ever coveted Chief Whore of the Free World Office and they will turn all free thinkers into Bible-thumping, war-mongering, automatons that are hopped up on booze and prescription drugs, and that everyone who needs a helping hand will become more so downtrodden than they already are. Either way, chaos will ensue. The sun will cease to rise. And worst of all, we'll have a recession. There, I said it.

Politics. I pay attention, but I don't really give a damn how things pan out. I realize that position is not very politically correct of me. However, whatever the whore parade does, I still know how to make rice and beans. I can darn my socks and mend a hole in a pair of jeans and unravel a sweater from the thrift store to knit myself a new one. I have a car, but I also have a bicycle and I know how to use it and repair it. As was pointed out to me recently, I am resilient and resourceful. And frankly, I am a little bit Buddhist about politics.

Last night I was speaking with a friend who has never been "rich" but has always been comfortable. Her family didn't have to scrimp to get by. She doesn't remember going to the market with a single mother and $5 to feed two kids for a month. If that was her situation, she would be a turtle on her back.

I told her that if the bottom fell out of the economy, I would sit back and laugh my ass off as people fell apart in panic and desperation as they lost their cars, houses and . . . horror of it all . . . their god damned, flat-screen, high-definition televisions. Is it such a surprise that Americans are fat? She wondered what I would do if I lost my job in such a hypothetical. I reminded her that before I had my current job, I always had some job or another. They weren't always professional. They didn't always hold the esteem that my profession does. And they certainly didn't bring me the scratch that I earn now. Even so, there is always a way to turn a dime if you are willing to do what it takes.

She could not imagine that anyone who has worked hard to get ahead could go back to the holding hands of modest means once they've discovered the vibrating joys of gluttonous affluence. Perhaps she has never really held hands. She bought her house just a couple of months before the real estate market took a header. I urged her to hold off for a spell while the sub-prime adjustable rate mortgages adjusted and people started to panic. Her property has lost about $15,000 in the past six months. Fear and desperation always smells of opportunity to people like me who are patient and good at being poverty stricken.

January 7, 2008

I’ve Been Remiss

And I’m still sorry.

December turned out to be a busy-ass month. If it’s any consolation, I thought of nothing but you, my faithful blog pals. OK, I lied a little with that last bit, but I often thought of all y’all and occasionally, I had moments of inspiration that went like this, “oh . . . hilarious . . . I should post about that.” And then I’d proceed to completely forget about it.

Anyhow, over the month of December, I completed a F. U. C. K. I. N. G. H. U. M. U. N. G. O. U. S. closure report and became sick as a dog.

Actually, I don’t often get sick so when I do, I don’t fuck around. This was one of the worst of the mothers of all head colds anyone could imagine. I was solidly in bed for about a week. When I finally mustered the gumption to haul my arse out of bed and go to work, last Thursday, I took a look at my environment and found this sad situation:

On the floor around my bed, there was a sea of soiled snot rags. Actually, a box and a half worth of them. In case you were wondering, they take up a lot more space out of the box than in it. On one side of my bed there was (here’s where the wheels came off the bus with the red wine pickled writing) ampty bottle of Niquil on the floor, On the bedside table there was a discussion about who has or who has no sense aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (whoops, I may have fallen asleep a little mid-blather) an empty bottle of Nyquil on the floor and on the bedside table there was a half full bottle of Nyquil. I spent an hour finding all the tissues strew about the house and did the dishes from can after can of pre-fab (read: not-so-fab) chicken soup. My strength is coming back now and I’m beginning to regain my feistiness. Couldn’t be more pleased at that prospect.

In other news, I found a condominium that I may actually make an offer for. Maybe not. I’m scared witless about it. Most people I know have a significant other jumping with them which spreads out the risk. And most of the people I know who go it alone, at least have parents who can offer an assist if things become overwhelming. In this case, it's just me. That makes me extremely cautious and hesitant with large purchases. I want my mommy (seems to be my fall back position when I’m sick or scared).

That's all for now. I have more up my sleeves, so stay tuned!

January 6, 2008

Happy 2008

Confession: I'm a bad blogger.

Someone should spank me . . . no, really, please . . . I'm in to that kind of thing. It's OK, though because my therapist doesn't think I'm much the worse for it so it's game on with a paddle.

I've been neglecting my blog and my blog pals for a month and I am truly sorry. Things have been busy: work, family, illness, not necessarily in that order. The other night I got fitfully crocked and hammered out some writing that I wanted to post, but I haven't had the guts to open it up and take a look at what sort of crazy talk I was spewing into the computer in the middle of the night, while soaked in red wine. I'll take a look and fix some typos and try to get it up soon so the blog goon squad carrying torches and pitch forks doesn't hunt me down to hurt me bad in a not so fun way.

Happy New Year, y'all!