Caterwauling

Remember this entry? Please forget it. It was indigestion. Yes, that was definitely it. Or that large crack rock I must’ve been sucking on.

Shoot me. Now. For the love of Christ. Hopeless, I tell you. Hopeless.

“American Idol” sucked. I think am going to break my history and not vote for a single performer. Blah. I had high hopes for Matt and Bri, but they were dashed. The idiot twins Jesus and Noel didn’t have a single spark to offer (not that I expected it). Lisa did a good job — I was thrilled because Simon really tore her apart last year AND this year, and she was clearly one of the judges’ favorites. Their other favorite was Camile, and they said Marisa was their third favorite. Everyone looked really good, but their voices seemed thin tonight. I still can’t believe they got rid of Scooter Girl. …

Speaking of unremarkable, I had a moment yesterday in which I was caught belting out tunes at work. Ugh. I thought nobody was there (as it was a holiday), and I was working between Angie’s office and mine. Well, somewhere between a Sinead Lohan/Carole King/Beth Hart/Joni Mitchell/Melissa Etheridge medley, I heard someone rustling about nearby (but all the hallway lights were off). I went to the ladies’ room (aka Toilet Town) shortly afterward, only to find our past-president in the photocopy room. Bah. The next “American Idol,” I am not. But my mortification only lasted a moment — I’m an only child, and I’m used to playing alone and amusing myself. And what the hell — it definitely kept him away from me, ’cause he sure as hell didn’t acknowledge me!

Okay, I did cast a vote for Bri. Thought I’d go for the long shot. …

Song of the day: “Everything Around Me is Changing”.

Lack of public bloggging doesn’t compensate for the internal blog that’s rolling through my mind.

God.

Did you ever find yourself standing on the precipice of … something … and your heart is telling you to just take that huge flying leap, even if it means landing splat on your face? Even when you’re certain that this is the right time to seize that moment and make it yours? What about those little voices that tell you that this could all be a figment of your imagination and that the warm, confident feeling you’ve suddenly acquired is probably just indigestion? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THE PASSION EFFERVESCING INSIDE OF YOU?

“And isn’t this always what I wanted

Isn’t it just what I always wanted

This is only what I want

Everything around me to be changing.”

Abstinence programs are being considered in my loving home state. The religious right is saying now that maybe we shouldn’t be teaching kids how to properly use contraceptives, especially at the middle-school level, even though such education led to a 30 percent drop in teen pregnancies.

My high school had the highest pregnancy rate in our entire county. And sex ed wasn’t introduced until ninth grade — one segment of a semester-long health class — and it was taught by two women who have probably never seen anything other than a plastic penis in their lives. It wasn’t enough, but I imagine it might have helped somewhat.

My mom had the best attitude toward sex — DO IT! She didn’t believe in forbidding me to do much of anything, and it led to my attitudes today of, “Well, I know I can have it whenever I can get it,” as opposed to, “*Shriek* It’s naughty, it’s dirty, so let me have as much as I can so I can rebel against parental wishes and societal norms!”

Of course, she had me when she was 16, so that kind of impacted me as far as, “Oh HELL no, I don’t want kids, especially at that age!” Mom, though, was one of those people who was meant to have kids — that’s what she did best, and she’s regretful that I am an only child, but at least she had the support and built-in babysitting services of my grandparents and great-grandmother. Most kids don’t have that kind of help when they decide to have babies of their own.

In any event, sure, stop teaching kids anything other than, “Sex is bad.” (That last line said in the voice of Mr. Mackey on “South Park” — “Sex is bad, drugs are bad, maryjuwana is bad, mmm kay?”) Don’t separate church and state. Pretend that kids really will listen to their gym teachers who are forced to teach abstinence as not just the best, but the only, way to deal with their budding sexuality.

And if they’re so fucking concerned about babies not having babies, maybe they can teach homosexuality as an option.

*off the soapbox again*

Last entry, we learned Baby Alex’s first words. Today, we heard Miss Baelen’s thoughts on her visit with Uncle Scott. So many cute kids around us, yet no inclination to reproduce ourselves. …

Alex said her very first words on Valentine’s Day. Appropriately, she said, “Blah blah blah.” And then she looked right at John, her daddy, and said, “Blah blah blah Da-Da!”

Even at the tender age of six months, she knows we’re all full of shit. 🙂

Shawn and I had plans to hang out on Friday the 13th to celebrate Bizarro Trailer Trash Valentine’s Day (i.e., bad food and titty bar attendance), but plans got thwarted and we ended up spending the wretched holiday together instead. And I have to say that last night ranked in my Top 2 Valentine’s Day festivities. 🙂

We started out at Chief Ike’s Mambo Room for a grotesque burlesque show. It wasn’t quite what we expected, but the bar was cozy and everyone there was ridiculously friendly. Lobster Boy served as emcee, but the only act we really enjoyed was some Brontosaurus trio who did a great remake of Sir Mix a Lot’s “Baby Got Back” — only their version is “Baby Got Sack,” an ode to big balls.

After lots of drinks (and Shawn getting mistaken for Justin Timberlake — not to mention, on Halloween, some people thought he was a member of N’Sync), as well as the girl selling Valentine’s candy killing herself to cozy up to him (and making sure to sit next to him during the show!), we decided to flee from the scene and indulge in a stylish late-night gourmet meal at Burger King.

All the other single people at BK must’ve thought we were just a horrible, unfortunate couple, because I caught all the women looking at me pityingly, like my guy couldn’t spring for a better meal. And what a horrid meal it was — I got the side salad, and the lettuce was brown and red from spoiling right in front of me. I cracked that these weren’t hearts of romaine .. this was ass of romaine. Disgusting. I would’ve done better sipping the ranch dressing straight from the packet instead of trying to ingest those rancid hunks of “lettuce.”

To punctuate our bad meals, once we were outside, I burped loudly and Shawn farted in agreement. Now, see, you just can’t DO shit like that when you’re on a “real” date!!!

To top off our trashy night, we ended up at Wet ’cause we needed to see naked boys.

The last time we were at Wet, we were so blazed out of our minds that all we could do was sit under the televisions and stare open-mouthed at the male-male porn that adorned their many screens — we were too fucked up to notice the real-live boys dancing on the countertops. Last night, we did actually have our wits about us to want to stab our eardrums with letter openers — when we entered, naked boys were actually doing karaoke … the first we heard was a horrid rendition of Evanescence’s “My Immortal,” but it got worse with two guys bobbing around singing Christina Aguilera and Ricky Martin’s “Nobody Wants to Be Lonely.” These are two of my favorite songs, and well, this killed it. Shawn asked the bouncer guy whether or not this was going to take up the whole night, and we were assured that it was almost over.

So, after some strong drinks to erase the memory of the auditory pain we incurred, we did get into the naked boys (as well as, of course, the porn) … particularly the hot buff boy who was dressed as a cop. Jesus Christ, he stripped off everything and went to the “shower” at the end of the bar and lathered up his muscles. Mmm baby! He was using Suave coconut shampoo as his lather, and the place suddenly smelled really good. I practically slid off my barstool, my panties got so damp at the sight of him. Damn, I never get guys like that!

Shawn was more engrossed in the Latin porn, and he made me laugh heartily when he said something to the effect of, “I haven’t done enough long-haired guys!” I have to agree with him on that one — any takers? (for me, that is!) 😉

Anywho, it was a great little night, and Shawn was a wonderful valentine. 🙂 I know we giggled and snarfed like fools, but I really can’t remember what the fuck we talked about. I asked Shawn to guest blog, but he declined. I’m sure he’ll supply the details (if he remembers any) in the comments. But all I can say is thanks for the laughs!

Melissa Etheridge could make me switch teams permanently if she’d write songs like this heart-wrenching ode for me. 😉 Although, arguably, her incredible songs have helped me to survive the past decade.

Happy Quirkyalone Day tomorrow!

1. Are you superstitious?

Somewhat. But it seems to work for me. I don’t fall for old wives’ tales or anything like that, but I do believe in not tempting fate, whenever possible.

2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?

My mom refuses to walk under anything hanging above her head. She’s paranoid that it will drop on her. God forbid she ends up in a sporting goods or toy aisle and sees inflatable swimming pools or bicycles or anything huge and rubbery, even if it’s 20 feet in the air. She has instant panic attacks and jets into oblivion. When we’re in the store, we have to try to spot these big items and avoid them at all costs (or drives far around them if they are outside). Once, in a Toys R Us, she looked up, saw a big stuffed snake, and I’m not kidding when I say she did a perfect split in midair and took off. I was lying on the floor spluttering and gasping for air, laughing at how cartoonish the moment was (it was like the Road Runner leaving the proverbial cloud of dust behind!).

3. Believer or not, what’s your favorite superstition?

It’s become a subconscious habit for me when I get in my car — I have to rub the crystal I have hanging from the rearview mirror. I’ve had it in the car since the day I bought it, and it’s a massive stress reliever for me, particularly as I am practically hyperventilating down the Brickyard 400 Beltway and other highways down here in which the minimum acceptable speed is 90 mph. I need all the good luck I can get!

The cute thing is that when I let my friend Paul drive my car, he always rubs the crystal before he gets going, too. 🙂

4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?

I believe in luck of all kinds. For instance, I wore a cream suit to interview for my last job and a brown suit to interview for this job. I will NEVER, EVER wear either of those outfits AGAIN for the BAD employment luck they seem to have brought me!

My favorite number is 3. I love to wear black when I need to feel successful or confident. If I don’t get my nails done before an event, I feel naked and ashamed of my hands. I suppose all of this is my way of asserting some power over my personal space to allow me to enter others’ spaces and hold my own.

5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?

As a card-carrying Gemini with Mercury rising, hell yeah I believe in it! When Mercury is in retrograde, my sanity shoots straight to hell. I do believe in astrological compatibility, too. Granted, you can be friends with or date anyone, but there are certain combinations of signs that are statistically more successful. I’m supposedly compatible with Aquarius, Aries, Leo and Libra but have mixed feelings about Sagittarians and fellow Geminis, and so far, that has been pretty much on the money. I’m attracted to Scorpios, though, for their strength and defiance. I typically avoid Cancerians unless they are on or near the cusp. Pisceans have always been in my circle of friends but not lovers — I love their poetry but that’s about where it ends.

Dating fellow Geminis has been a trip. Conventional wisdom dictates that Geminis will get along in conversation but have a crappy sex life ’cause their brains never shut off. Quite the contrary, in my case. Conversation was warp-speed and sometimes tiring, but their sexual stamina was what kept me coming (in all senses of the word!) back for more.

My congressmen — Sen. John W. Warner (R-Va.), Sen. George Allen (R-Va.) and Rep. James P. Moran (D-Va.) — got this letter from me tonight on the subject of a proposed constitutional amendment preventing same-sex marriage:

“Where is the punchline …

… because this has to be a joke.

I believe comedienne Margaret Cho said it best when she asked who on this earth would deny a gay male the right to have a bridal registry.

There are so many more important things to focus on than — god forbid — preventing gays and lesbians from having a union recognized by our country. Marriage, as it stands, isn’t really working, is it now? And marriage may not be in my future as a heterosexual person, but for those who are so fortunate to have found true love, let them get married. Let them have the partner benefits. We have so many millions of uninsured people in this country, and that includes many of my friends who have same-sex partners who have great benefits. Let’s worry about something real for a change, can we?

If I were Queen for a Day, I’d direct my taxes to only those causes I deem worthy. Using it to prohibit my friends and loved ones from having a relationship that is recognized by my state and my country is an abomination. Bush may or may not have won the war on terror, but this is one battle he is going to lose. And personally, if I don’t find the man of my dreams (if he even exists), then I don’t want to rule out my options of finding a happily-ever-after that doesn’t conform to whatever the religious right claims to be in the greatest fictional work of all time, their precious Bible.”

*hopping off soapbox. for now. *