How I Recover From Jetlag

Photos courtesy of Nurse Sis, bien sur.




Goddamn, that dog's cute. Someone should make a stuffed animal based on him.

Jesus

Avi "left" Marvel. I don't know how to feel about this. Does anyone else think this is wonky after X-Men just broke records?

An Inconvenient Truth

Brenda and I just got back from seeing the movie. Thought it was fabulous. Please, please go see it. The things we need to do aren't that drastic, and otherwise we're pretty much all going to die.

It really is a moral issue rather than a political one. And if you won't listen to a liberal about it, here's a fantastic review from a staunch conservative who wants you to see it, too.

Favorite Purchases

To make the trip spa-like, I stopped in the airport at The Body Shop and made some excellent purchases. Which is good, because the shopping and fashion in Spain was...uh...CRAP, for lack of a better word.

May I recommend for your summer enjoyment:
Lipscuff, the only exfolient I know of for your lips.



To make your lips baby soft, then follow with the yummy-loverly Shea Lip Butter. Yeah, baby!

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And last but not least, the amazing MANGO package of
shower scrub, shower gel and body butter. Soooo wonderful, and the mango butter works great for massages as well. Edible you!

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These items definitely added to my vacation, and made my roommate declare me Best Roomie! (Okay, the back massages and late night girl talk didn't hurt either...) So if you need a treat for yourself or a lady in your life, no excuses!

Why I Hate International Travel

by Liz Fies

Flew halfway around the world to go to freaking Santa Monica. I shit you not. I´ve basically been in Santa Monica the past week.

Guess where I´m supposed to be?

Atlanta for my connecting flight.

Guess where I am?

Effing Madrid.

Guess where my luggage is?

NO ONE KNOWS.

Eff Spain and their laxadazical time-telling, connecting flights that leave EARLY, and their directions that consist of ¨Just go out of the terminal and make a left and then a right¨ when what they mean is ¨RUN out of the terminal because you´re LATE because we lost your bags, make a left and RUN for 1 MILE, THEN make a right and GO DOWNSTAIRS.¨

Effers.

It´s a good thing I was a rock star in the discoteque or I´d be putting a voodoo curse on the whole lot of them right now. For some reason, I have INDESCRIBABLE GAME in Spain. Now infamous among villa-ites for attracting Spanish men. Kooky. Too bad I´m NEVER coming back.

I´m so effing tired I finally understand the movie ¨Lost in Translation.¨

The company was spectacular. Probably have never had that much fun in my life with such an amazing group of people. But you know what? It could have been anywhere. They were that totally awesome. So awesome they should be arrested.

Got laid...disapointing. And no second shot at it when he´d be more able; it was a onesie - never - happened - thing, forgotten instantaneosly. Then was alternately abused and ignored by Meathead Freakshow all week at the villa. I did not choose wisely. Got the recreational sex thing right, but forgot to add female orgasm and ¨dude doesn´t turn into a crampy PMSing woman¨ to the visualization list. If there were ever a case for ¨Why buy the bull(sh*t) when the sausage is free?¨ Finally ratted him out to the girls, and they banded together and gave him a little what for. Funny story. More on that later.

Found out I´ve been wearing the wrong bra size and that I´m actually a 34DD. How the hell did that happen, and maybe I should stop trying to diet away the thighs and just accept the god-given bounty?

Kissed a few random Spaniards, none of whom had game. Leered at one hot hot gardener all week. Made a new BFF.

And Liz doesn´t care anymore, because Liz just wants to come home.

Liz may permanently speak in the third person. And change her name to Jade.

Next time Liz is just going back to Hawaii.

hola

Things are great. Place is as beautiful as the pictures said. The other 12 people are amazing. Every one of us has had some huge trauma, and we´re partying more in a week than I ever did in college. Pretty much haven´t slept in a week, but the bronchitis is gone.

Saw a shirt that said ¨Spanish Olimpics: Eating, Drinking, $%cking¨, and when in Rome...Last night we went to a disco, and I kissed two different guys. Both of whom bit me (!$%) Not so sure about this Spain city thing. Would rather stay in the sweet villa and keep having dance party 2006.

Pretty great. Except of course the guy I picked in the villa is now treating me like dog doo doo. I always pick the good ones. More on that later.

Hasta pronta! Or however that´s spelled.

Travel Blues

My flight from Atlanta to Barcelona was canceled due to Delta's second plane malfunction of that hour, so I'm in an unplanned layover in beautiful downtown Atlanta Holiday Inn. Not QUITE the spa in Spain I was looking forward to.

Luckily, I was one of the few people booked on a flight the next day, so all I'm really losing out on is $160 for my hotel room and a day of my vacation. At least I still get to go. And I had no eardrum problems on the descent, I'm sure in part due to the antibiotics and these crazy earplugs called "Earplanes", recommended by astronauts. Alrighty then!

I let my friend/organizer know about my travel changes, and it turns out I'll be sharing the planeride from Madrid to Malaga with one of my other unmet tripmates. Charlie described him as "Tall, bigger than me, also like a rugby player, blonde blue eyes with a cleft chin." I told Charlie I'd be married to him before we arrived in Granada.

Atlanta is a trip. I wish I had the energy to go explore. I would definitely check out Margaret Mitchell's house, but unfortunately I'm really dizzy/exhausted from the meds for my bronchitis. So I'm just hanging out on the computer, and I'll probably go pool my $7 (?) meal vouchers together and try to buy some lunch and watch All My Children.

All in all I'm fairly sanguine about the whole thing. I mean, I'm so blessed to be able to take a vacation at all. And I met some cool people, since 100 of us were stranded. The Holiday Inn last night was a total pickup joint. I was running from the men.

Last night I had dinner with Paige, a second-year Harvard Law student. We ate grits at an all-night waffle shop together after commiserating in the airport for four hours while we got booked on new flights (she's totally screwed - she has to travel backwards now and has 3 additional layovers. But she'll be traveling until mid-June, so it will all work out in the end).

Definitely odd being in the south for the first time. We were the only white people in the waffle shop, but unlike Chicago, the black people would actually talk to me. But then this morning I met an amazing man in the business center - 40s ish, an RN from South Dakota and a preacher. He and his wife of twenty years just adopted their ninth child this morning (plus 2 of their own). He was such an amazing, loving guy, totally filled with light. And I was so open and spoke to him the whole time, but HE NEVER LOOKED ME IN THE EYE. It's just all so weird. I mean here's this guy doing all this good in the world, and he can't be shy because he's a preacher, and he's been to every state but California and lived in Germany while he served in the military, and he didn't feel he could look me in the eye. I guess because I'm white, or maybe a white woman? I don't know. I hate that feeling. I mean, we connected. He actually really made me think about adopting. But I'm sure we would have connected more if I could have caught a sparkle in his beautiful eyes.

Anyways, I'm off to go find some food and a comfy chair to pass out into. Hopefully I'll wake up in time. I'm so dizzy I feel like I could sleep forever. I'm usually so independent, but I had these weird vivid dreams all night about friends and family rescuing me from dire situations. Like I was calling on my cell phone desperately for help and couldn't get through to anyone. Course, I also kept dreaming I was showing up in innapropriate places and taking my top off. Not like I have a problem with nudity in reality. Oh, and I had a dream that there was a huge resort pool where owners could swim with their dogs, and there were hundreds of them. Mom was in that dream.

By the way, grits taste COMPLETELY different in the south. I highly recommend them.

Sorry about all the non-sequiters. I hope there's some level of lucidity to this post. Clearly I'm not able to judge. God I hate the effects of medication. :)

So Behind in Posting

And now I'm leaving the country. Ain't that just like a woman? Leave you wanting more.

I had a fabulous weekend. Drove down to San Diego to meet fellow blogger Meg for the first time in the non-virtual world. She is so cool! A witty do-gooder, out there fighting the good fight and getting her masters at Cambridge...and anyone who sings "Living on a Prayer with the rest of the sushi eaters is good people by me! We shared a hotel, and it just happened to be prom night on the top floor. So funny. Meg had great stories, and you know nothing beats conversation in my book.

I've been so blessed to meet wonderful people through this site. I never was good at pen pals in school, and was always jealous of the people who forged friendships that way, and now here I am meeting strangers who feel like old friends.

On Mother's Day, Nurse Sis and I hosted a brunch for ladies without moms. It was so lovely and touching. God I love spending the day noshing.

How Do I Ever Get Out Of Bed?

How cute are Hero and Stat? Best cuddlers ever.

So it's official - I've had Bronchitis for the last two months. In fact, down to the day after I slept with that guy. Okay Mom, I get it, he's a complete mess and you hate him...I deleted his phone number, he's out of my life...can I PLEASE stop coughing up green phlegm now? Pretty please?

Man, she's always sooo opinionated about my men. Can't a girl just get laid every once in a while without having to leave the country for it to be okay? The phlegm is scaring off all the OTHER nice boys, Mom. Knock it off.

Antibiotics onboard. Hopefully the planeride tomorrow will be painless, and by this time Friday I'll be in a lovely Spaniard's company. Their hospitality is legendary, and I've come to expect my own personal hunky tour guide in Europe. Ahhh, Europe.

Love This Site

Who found my Spain list?

You people always spying on me.

I Never Said I Was There For Networking

Just TOTALLY got called out by a male cyberfriend about my 99.96% male friend ratio on Myspace. Say it with me folks: "I Never Said I Was There For Networking!"

Big smiles.

Send me some love

Okay, two more pain in my ass private showings of our house coming up over the next three hours. Send me some good thoughts that one of these effers is going to make an offer already.

Neither the A-list oscar winner, B-list 80s comedian, or WB bit player made an offer despite multiple visits. It's such a gorgeous place; don't know what's wrong with people. Jump already. We bought it the first night we saw it. Pussies.

Sick of opening my house to the world, and it would be nice to have some paperwork signed before I leave for Malaga next Thursday. (Nurse Sis has power of attorney while I'm gone, so I better not get into any snorkeling accidents or that plug is getting YANKED!)

It better be good

Otherwise Brett Ratner is going to get an asskickin' from heaven. Mom freaking LOVED Wolverine and X1/2.

Can't believe I'm going to be in Spain when it premiers. Weird to miss a midnight showing.

L.A. Times reviewed Mom's Cancer

Nice that Brenda finally gets her due!

http://www.calendarlive.com/books/
bottom right hand side of web page

http://www.calendarlive.com/books/cl-bk-maury7may07,0,3288039.story?coll=
cl-books-utility-right

May 7, 2006
Seizing the day
*Mom's Cancer Brian Fies Abrams Image: 116 pp., $12.95
By Laurel Maury, Laurel Maury, an editorial assistant at the New Yorker, writes reviews for a variety of publications.

IN "Mom's Cancer," Eisner Award-winning artist Brian Fies does a simple reality face-off with his mother's illness. Fies' excellent graphic novel, which started as a weekly Web comic, describes his mother's cancer treatment with neither sentiment nor hysterics, and the effect is quietly devastating.

Fies' art is simple, with a big-jawed, 1950s look, like the friendly art found in old public service announcements. The characters have plain-Jane names: Mom, Nurse Sis, Kid Sis and the unnamed narrator. As the story opens, Mom has a stroke-like episode that turns out to be a symptom of a brain tumor. Like the educated, middle-class people they are, Nurse Sis, Kid Sis and the narrator make phone calls and try to pull strings to get their mother the best treatment. Soon, Mom is a patient at Impressive Hospital (all people and places have aliases), with a diagnosis of large-cell carcinoma: stage-four lung cancer.

The image Fies gives us of Mom in a recliner, her bald head in a bandanna, her body wrapped in blankets and a chemo pump in her arm is an icon we fear the way the medieval mind feared hell. Later, her radiation-burned skin starts to slough off. Her kids never tell her the odds of survival.

Meanwhile, the ex-husband, a doctor-turned-hippie, thinks Mom should simply accept death and die. Although the ex is Fies' punching bag for everything silly about boomers, he has a point. No one discusses the trade-off between the odds of survival and the amount of suffering. When the oncologist tells Mom she will be one of the 5% who make it, Mom breaks down sobbing: "Five percent?! If I'd known it was that bad, I never would have put myself through this!"

Fies mixes in surreal moments of lightness. He draws Mom as the patient in the 1970s game, "Operation," here called "Inoperable," referring to the state of her cancer. At one point, he and his siblings turn into superheroes in which they become hyper-emotional versions of themselves in capes and tights. But Mom, Nurse Sis, Kid Sis and the narrator are exactly like everyday middle-class people. This story is nerve-wracking because it hits close to any of our homes.

Each character grows up. Nurse Sis comes into her own as the family's real adult; Kid Sis, who once bounced around bit parts in Hollywood, finds she is stronger than she thought; the narrator finds his own sense of purpose in chronicling his mother's fight. And Mom gets a puppy (a "whirling, vibrating poof of fur"), names him Hero and learns to grab and savor the life she has. She moves to Southern California.

What may earn this book a spot in oncology offices, self-help groups and, probably, medical school curricula, is how carefully Fies tells the truth about what happens to people. "Mom's Cancer" doesn't soften any blows. It gives us a woman getting through the most horrible episode of her life. She could easily be one of us.

Happy Cinquo

If you're looking for a great radio station with a fresh playlist, stream Jack FM. Kid you not, in the last hour they've played Don Mclean, Thompsin Twins, Billy Squier, The Time, REM, and Georgia Satellite. No rhyme or reason to their eclectic mix, except that all the songs are brilliant.

Do My Eyes Deceive Me?

Or are we looking good?

I still think he's more Dean Cain then Christopher Reeve. Feh.

Chew on This

Lynne has some fabulous blog posts up about what it's like to be the less-able-bodied person out in the hard-hearted public. Might make you think twice about your own behavior. I found myself avoiding a woman in a wheelchair at Pitchfest, and when I identified it as residual emotion from Mom, I snapped out of it and called her over to pitch to me. She was delightful. Go send Lynne some love; she deserves it.

Also, I've been running into a lot of people who need this info, so at the risk of the rest of you thinking I'm a fruitcake...if you're having unbearable headaches, bodyaches and sadness the last six months, check out the Energy Alerts at What's Up on Planet Earth.

Where I'll be in 2 weeks

Thank the gods. It's so weird that I haven't seen Charlie since winter. I stayed in his NYC pad a couple months ago for the book launch, but he was in SF doing another commercial real estate deal.

We never got away to the spa retreat in Arizona, but renting a Villa in Spain is quite the replacement. He always does things in style. Go big or go home.


Unreal. I get goosebumps just looking at it. You should see the rest of the pix!

I got the hottest bathing suit - best one I've ever bought, and I've lost almost twenty pounds for the trip. All-night conversations, amazing company, private beach/pool/spa, heat, no phone or internet, girlie drinks, novels to read, private chef...it's going to be heaven.

Good Quote

Just received this from an old friend:

"It doesn't do anyone any good to feel guilty all the time. In fact, it's self-absorbed. In an attempt to get over myself, I made a sign for my apartment that said HOUSE OF LOVE AND BRAGGING. I decided to put my sign up because I'd found--months after that fact!--that good things were happening underground. Friends knew their bad news would be welcomed and comforted, but what about sharing when good things happen? At times I kept good news private, because I honestly thought I should protect my new friends, in case they couldn't handle hearing it and somehow would drop a piano on my head. Which is really condescending and annoying. The result was wonderful. I felt bouyed by their vulnerability in sharing something they were proud of. I, in turn, told more people when things were going well in my own life. Everyone could handle it just fine."
- Aimee Bender, "House of Love and Bragging," The Modern Jewish Girl's Guide to Guilt

I'm rewatching the original Red Shoe Diaries - The Movie today, and I still love it just as much as I did fifteen years ago. So brilliant. Has any other straight director ever understood women this well? I can't think of one. The whole movie gives me chills. What women want, what we feel, what turns us on, what we're like when men aren't around, how we want sex to look and sound, that pesky control issue in relationships...it's all there. And the psychology of how her controlling mother, fiancee and lover all back the main character into a corner where she kills herself totally works for me. Love love love it. Too bad the TV series was more mood than psychology.

Updates

New pix up from our last two readings: Adelitas and Minnehaha. Amazing writers. Sarah just sold a fantastically funny series to WB Online. I missed Drew's reading because of an important Hero Doll meeting, but he's totally unique and irreplaceable and everything a guy should be.

This past week/end has been such a blur of networking and dating and making new friends, I can hardly believe it. Pitchfest was amazing, not for the pitchers per se, but the pitchees I was able to hang with as colleagues and crushes. Can't wait to see what develops, har har har.

Anna's b-day party Saturday night at the Bigfoot Lodge was sooo much fun. She's still in contact with her whole dorm from film school, and ten years later they're like family, yet very weloming to outsiders. And it's always cool to hang with a group where most of the people are on shows or are on the verge as writers/filmmakers. Reminds me how close it all is.

No offers on the house yet. Unreal. Twilight Zone? It's torturous. Just make us move already. I've got my lapdance chair all picked out for the new pad. Boudoir, pole, chair, man...I'm ready!

Pitchfest

I'll be there this Sunday representing Windchill Films if you'd like to come pitch to me. We're looking for low-budget horror ($200,000) and high-concept comedy or Die Hard types.
Pitchfest

Wedding Extravaganza

Here's a great slideshow of pix from the wedding I wass privileged to be in this past weekend. The bride was beautiful, the weather was perfect, Trump Golf Course was elegant, the food was generous, and the company was excellent.

Click Here

I'm Sort of Alive

Just mired in shiite.

So I invest 656 pages of reading into The Magus. And it's gorgeous, earth-shattering prose. But is there an effing ending? No. Pretty bold for a book that purports to have The Answers. Urgh.

Look at what the poor publishers had to post on their website to address this disappointment:

Translating the Last Lines of The Magus
We receive lots of e-mail at this site, much of it asking questions about John Fowles and his work. One question in particular keeps popping up again and again:

"What does the quotation at the end of The Magus mean?"

So, in order to save time (for both those asking the question and us), here's the scoop:

cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit cras amet
The opening lines of an anonymous Latin lyric titled The Vigil of Venus (3rd century A.D.), it translates to:

"Tomorrow let him love, who has never loved; he who has loved, let him love tomorrow."
An alternate translation, submitted by Professor Andrey Kravtsov of New Mexico State University, is:

"Let those love now who've never loved; let those who've loved, love yet again."
It seems fairly clear that Fowles is indicating, through the quote, his preferred resolution to the story as it pertains to Nicholas and Alison. Although ultimately, as Fowles has noted, it is up to the reader to come up with his or her own interpretation.

In fact, Fowles himself is not averse to ownership of multiple interpretations of the ending (a quality he subsequently demonstrated, literally, in The French Lieutenant's Woman). The following anecdote is telling:

In response to a gentle letter from a New York lawyer, dying of cancer in a hospital, who said he very much wanted the couple to be reunited, Fowles wrote back, "Yes, they were." On the same day he got a "horrid" letter from an American woman who angrily demanded, "Why can't you say what you mean, and for God's sake, what happened in the end?" Fowles replied curtly: "They never saw each other again."*

*From The French Lieutenant's Woman's Man: Novelist John Fowles by Richard B. Stolley.

Post Secret Sunday

If I had a dime for evertyime I heard a lesbian say that...

My favorite Jack Bauer jokes.

What Effin' Ever

If TPTB go with anyone other than Morena or an unknown Greek who looks exactly like Wonder Woman, I am going to be soooo ass-kicking PISSED.

Sheesh. Britney Spears. Effin' morons.

Such a Funny Site

And he's cute and reads Go Fug Yourself. Well, John Corbett may have killed off a huge piece of hope in my heart today, but it's okay because Todd restored it.

Somehow I always end up even. Never ahead, never behind. Even.

Guess that means I don't have to keep checking behind me for Annakin to bring balance back.

The Marginalization of Women

Go Oprah and Pink. Have to make sure my last drafts of "Pistoleras" bring this theme home.



And check out "Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture."

More on this critical, scary issue? South Park of course, Episode 812. Yes the entire episode:

My Secret Shame

Your Daddy Is Patrick Stewart

What You Call Him: Big Daddy Why You Love Him: He gives good spankings.

Who's Your Daddy?

Oprah's Debt Diet

Highly recommended.

Man That Myspace is a Time-waster

Proves what I've always suspected though. Men just don't age as well as women. Don't spend too much time looking up your high school honeys, or you'll be shopping for twenty-year-olds in no time. Yikes!

'Nother Place You Can Get Lost For Hours

No, not Myspace. My Heritage.com

Upload a photo of yourself for free, and this face recognition program will tell you which celebrity you most resemble.

I hope they're not using this to identify pedophiles and assassins, because my results were startlingly based on the length of my hair in the photo (Eve Mendes), and how exactly I was smiling (teeth showing? I'm Bebe Neuwirth. Lips pursed? I'm Meryl Streep?!)

Wow. Technology and what it CAN'T do ;)

Impeccably Groomed

Feeling so much better. Akin to BC's Burke Spa suggestion, I followed Brenda into work today and received some beauty treatments at a sister rate (Brenda rules!). More laser hair removal on my underarms (that may be the last one...think I'm hair-free!), Brazilian bikini laser, Polaris on my face wrinkles (it's better than a face lift), AND an eyelash perm (I have super-long eyelashes, but they won't obey a regular curler and are highly allergic to mascara, so the perm thing gives me startling results). I'm absolutely giddy over feeling human again.

All that good stuff, and I've lost 2 pant sizes in the last nine days (influenza and Atkins rock!) AND my gfriend Shauna just told me I could bring a date to her wedding if I really wanted to....hmmmm....
The killer dress, hanging off me at the fitting yesterday. LOOOOOVING.

Do I really want to? I'll be in my updo hair and awesome bridesmaid outfit. Don't know if anyone has earned being on my arm now, let alone a $150 gourmet dinner and a night of dancing. Talk about a bargain basement deal.

Dates are nice, but it could be a blast to be the Singleton. Decisions, decisions. Must go S on it...

Ladies, My Gift to You

I'm gone tomorrow getting my bikini lasered, so thought I'd Friday post now. Oh the things we S Factor girls do to ourselves...

I'm normally hair-retarded. (a fact that vexes my hairstylin' girlfriends, who often sigh and throw their hands up in the air and then demand to style me for hours...so what's the impetus to learn to do it myself?) But I was going through some old paperwork and found this hairstyle, and lo and behold, I got it right on the first try. Though I left it teased to give it a rock and roll feel for the Silverlake Film Festival. Enjoy!
Meanwhile, I have Peaches stuck in my head:


Knockin' you out
like Rocky Balboa
Drown you in a flood
deeper than Noah
I'm the kinda bitch
you wanna get with...


Is that Feminist? Radical Feminist? Neo Feminist? It's got a good beat and I can S to it...

My Space

Great, fine, I'm on there now. Add me or whatever: http://www.myspace.com/lisfies
Can't believe it. Now those bitches from grade school and all the exes I escaped from are going to find me. Christ.

Oh my stars and garters, Billy Joel was so good tonight. He played for 2 1/2 hours. I was in heaven. Awesome Christmas present in April. And who knew so many lesbians and 18 year old girls liked BJ?

Gays On Board With Daniel Craig

They're so easy to sway. I wish I belonged to the Gay Mafia.

It's All This Man's Fault

Damn Thorsten Kaye. If he would stop appearing on ABC soaps, I wouldn't have to freaking watch him every day. First One Life to Live, then Port Charles, now my beloved All My Children.

I swear. It's like he's following me. Thank the gods I have TiVO, so I'm only wasting ten minutes a day on his scenes.

He's a rugby player with an Irish accent, reminding me way too much of my infamous Glastonbury sojourn. Oh! Oh!! Even worse, he didn't just play irresistable poet Professor Patrick Thornhart for three years on OLTL, saving feisty Marty after she was gang raped...he's a poet in real life and donated the book proceeds to children's charities. Rides a motorcyle. AND has a master's degree in theater and theater history.

He's gotta be gay. Right?

I'm telling you IMDB, AMC and an overactive, fevered imagination at 3 am is better than porn. Especially when it's so easy to imagine I'm Kendall Hart and Thorston loves ME, DAMMIT. I mean ZACH loves me...I mean...

Oh my god, somebody shoot me. I don't want to have the flu anymore. I want to go out on dates and see movies and have someone who I like who really really likes me read poetry to me and say pretty things to me while he strokes my hair and we donate canned food to orphans. *Hack Hack Cough.*

UPDATE: I just HAD to keep reading to find some pictures and oh great, he's married with a kid...to FREAKING Marty no less. No wonder I bought into that chemistry. Oh, they're so happy and cute together. *Cough cough hack hack.*

Fuckers. Someone bring me some TheraFlu and Vodka.

I'm so depressed now there's ONLY ONE THING that can possibly make me feel better about life again. Anna, this is for you:




*Sniff sniff.* I feel a little better.

Cost of Loving

A dear friend called sobbing yesterday because it was time to put down his beloved cat, a sweetie names Eyes who had been his loyal companion of thirteen years.

Judd was so sweet and empathetic when I put Calliope down last May, and was in the room for the much less humane "putting down" of Mom (what the HELL is wrong with our health system that she had to suffer for 12 extra hours, but our cats are lovingly put to sleep in 12 seconds?). So of course Brenda (Nurse Sis) and I dragged ourselves out of our own deathbeds to be present at another passing yesterday. At one point she drolly opined that we're getting so good at this, we should figure out a way to get paid. To which I replied, no way in hell am I witnessing death every work day, no matter how much money.

Eyes, this is for you:

PUTTING DOWN THE CAT
by Billy Collins

The assistant holds her on the table,
the fur hanging limp from her tiny skeleton,
and the veterinarian raises the needle of fluid
which will put the line through her ninth life.

"Painless," he reassures me, "like counting
backwards from a hundred," but I want to tell him
that our poor cat cannot count at all,
much less to a hundred, much less backwards.

I Assure You, We're Open

Post Secret Sunday

Some interesting ones today. A nice variety from the usual molestations (not that that's not important...) I liked the nude pooper. Had an ex that could be from. The bridesmaid one made me laugh. This one made me say Hmmmnnn:


I have something I'm really hurting over today that I might actually make up and send in. Maybe I'll let you guys know if they print it. Ouch.

Dude, I sent in ANOTHER Aint it Cool review that didn't get published. Guess I am officially blacklisted for some reason. So weird. Oh well. I really should be getting paid for that crap by now anyway. I've got to stop trying to help everyone, you know?

Ha. You can totally tell I'm hurt right now because my mind is just buzzing with thoughts. Blog, blog, blog, ignore your real life...

God I Hate Myspace

I just checked it out again because I'm supposed to keep on top of media. I always feel like I should go shower afterwards.

Seriously, what the eff is that all about except linking to porn stars, and pathetic girls trying to look like porn stars? God I'm so sick of women selling themselves. It's like a highschool hallway with xxx stars.

And the men going along with it...I just don't understand how an entire culture could get so swept up in the basest, most meaningless expressions of our sexuality. So boring and childish.

When are people going to figure out sex has nothing to do with flesh? I know, I know, when we're all turned into pillars of salt.

Ha!

Just got an email from a dear old friend who was procrastinating at work and found the Entertainment Weekly thing on Mom's Cancer: "Ok, now I have to get to work ... figuring out how to get from you to Kevin Bacon in six degrees."

;) Don't think we're quite there yet Steve, but the EW mention is verrrry cool.

Why I'm a Traitor

This is the scoop on why, in the end, I've always ended up dating Republicans. Boo, hiss, I know. I'm a traitor. Whatever. The reality is, I'm the original Runaway Bride. Hell, I'm so original I'm actually the Runaway Date. I can sit in a date and think of a million reasons why this isn't going to work. You can actually see the moment where I snap into flight mode and start looking for the bathroom window like I was freaking Nikita or Sydney Bristow. It is soooo rare for a date to even get a kiss out of me, I can't even tell you.

But what I've noticed over the years with my dating patterns is, it's the Republicans who relentlessly woo me until I give in. (Somewhat. No one's talked me into marriage yet, and I've been getting serious proposals since I was 15.) They're the ones with the flowers and phone calls and drop-offs of Nyquil when I'm not feeling well. They're the ones who plan dates and hold the door open and tell me I'm special and pretty and the only one they want to spend time with. They're the ones looking for a true teammate to rule the world with. And the right ones have their shit together financially and tend to lean left on social issues. Sure, I've had a few misfortunate incidents where I had to break up with someone because they told me my gay friends were going to burn in hell, but for the most part the Republicans are the only men I've met who place any value on me as a woman.

So while my cutie-pattootie liberal brothers are in the trenches finding themselves and enjoying free love, this neo-feminist is out on the town being treated to dinner by the enemy. I have a fantasy that someday it will be Dharma and Dweezil. A Dweezil that adores me. But the reality I'm waking up to is no matter what I wish in my heart could be true, it's always ended up being Dharma and Greg.

Entertainment Weekly Review

Is it just me, or is it a little weird they didn't mention the Eisner? No, no, it's definitely weird.

Mom's Cancer Press

Things are heating up again. The new issue of Entertainment Weekly features a review, which is about time considering the EW guy was an Eisner judge! Now where's Variety? Brian's site has a bunch of info about new reviews and his recent TV interview, which was fantastic.

All of this is soooo much better than having to put up with the articles of an ex's success in the paper/magazines recently. God, dating in LA is so complicated. At least I didn't have to see his girlfriend on all the bus stop posters like one of my bff's went through...


Ralph. For no reason but he makes me feel better.

Feeling a Tiny Bit Better

Okay, I was really ready to ask someone to just off me already. Then Hero, who is not a lapdog and like most boys likes to sit about a foot away from you, decided to jump on my lap and cuddle with me for a whole half hour. Doggy-kiss bliss. Then I checked my cell phone and had a hysterical message there from my Best Gay missing me, and then another from a guy I like. Okay, feeling a little more special and less alone and miserable with the flu. Maybe I don't need to go hire a hooker to hold me and tell me everything's going to be okay. We'll see how bad it gets tonight. I still reserve the right to walk down to the boulevard and find someone who will pet my hair. Though I could probably talk my Best Gay into that AND feeding me chocolate. For free.

Oh, and I was feeling really weird about bursting into tears a few hours ago because my body hurt so much, but then Ironwoman Brenda told me she cried from the pain too, and that I'm just two days behind her symptoms and will be feeling somewhat human again soon. Thank god. I really can't abide being weak. The self-loathing almost hurts more than the chills and body ache. And for that viewpoint, I totally blame Mom.