not before the coffee, thanks

On my way to the trains every morning I pass a little video store. Lately they have had a cardboard cut out of Borat in his "mankini" standing outside the shop, advertising the Borat movie, which has now gotten to Norway on DVD.



Sigh.

I don't know about you, but for me it's awful damned early to be looking at THAT without a very large coffee first. And as I have not yet had my coffee when on the way to the train, and am hungry and susceptible to suggestion before said coffee, now, every morning, I am having cravings for margaritas. Big green margaritas with lots of crushed limes. Obviously this is a result of being assaulted by the man's lime green package every damned morning, being hungry, and my brain seeing the lime color and sublimating that into lime juice mixed with tequila. And Cointreau.

(Insert Freudian blather about crushing limes and man juice and the subconscious and all that crap. Yeah yeah I know. That above paragraph ALONE is worth a few hours with Freudian shrink I am sure.)

This morning I ALMOST turned the damned Borat cut out around because I just could not face another morning of his oddly exaggerated green crotch. But I didn't, I just walked right by it, yet another train wreck of a morning with lumpy limes bouncing around in my caffeine starved head.

God help me.

So, you wanna know what happened, don't you?

Puppetry of the Penis. Curious?

Well, let's see.

The crowd: A mix of everyone, from 85 year old grandmas to men with their wives. Every age, every sort of person. Same crowd you'd expect at a movie, for that matter. My friend who came with me was all nervous and acting like I was dragging her to some sort of horrible nudey perv show, full of sticky seats and slimy people. (I took a bit of exception to that, I felt like I was her executioner or something!). Once she saw the crowd she mellowed out, though. The theatre was packed, it held about 300 people.

Our seats: Third row. Center.

The Stage: Two mics. A large video screen (!!!).

The Actors: Two Australian men and their tackle, which, to be honest, was larger than the average, but not scarily so.

The show: So, the two guys came out on stage wearing capes, socks and sneakers. One guy wore a hat, sort of a Gilligan hat. They talked for a while and introduced the camera man, who, it turned out, was there to video the close ups of the "installations" for those in the back row. That meant, for those of us closer up, not only did we see two dicks doing tricks, but we also had a 10 foot CLOSE UP VIEW of it all on the screens. I can honestly say, now, that I am very familiar with the private anatomy of two complete strangers. Moles, hair, one guy had a largish zit on his bum.

Anyhow, as for the show itself. As much as this would not seem to be the appropriate word, I have to say it was cute. Once the robes came off (the scariest bit, actually) everyone in the audience sort of settled in to it and accepted that yes, there were two naked men on stage doing very strange things with their bits and pieces. As they said, it was not a "stand up" show, and they had awesome genital flexibility. Also, they never touched each other, they both did their own, um, handling.

The "Installations": The Loch Ness Monster. A Windsurfer. An Escargot (pre cooked). Kentucky Fried Chicken (Finger Licking Good!). A Wristwatch (they did not use the slogan "Takes a Licking and Keeps on Ticking", which I thought was a massive oversight on their part.) A Fan. Ayers Rock in Australia, both from the side and the aerial view. A Baby Kangaroo in its Pouch. A Frightened Sea Urchin. A Girl. A Vagina. A Thong, from the Back View. A Hemmorhoid. The Hotdog. The Hamburger. Yoda, from Star Wars. A Beating Heart. A Crank Starter On a Car. The Eiffel Tower. A Hungry Baby bird. (These last two were only possible because one guy was not circumcized.) A Cocktail. haha. Etc.

Are you getting the idea? (And boy am I going to get some strange google hits after this post.)

My favorite "skit" was the one with the props. Specifically, one guy goes back stage and come out with a picture frame, which he places around his crotch so as to make art of it. He then says, "Here, ladies and gents, is a portrait of the World's Most Dangerous Man and the Biggest Dick: George W. Bush". He then whips the frame around to his ass and quips "And here's Tony Blair".

I DIED, I tell you, just DIED.

Then they had the Audience Volunteer portion of the evening. This poor girl, whose birthday it was, was called onstage and told to hold her hands over her head. She did, and the one guy very handily flipped into a hand stand in front of her, his ankles landing in her hands. So now he's naked, spreadeagled upside down, facing the audience. She's behind him, his ankles in her hands, and his, um, bunghole, basically directly in her face. The view from the camera was hilarious, as it looked like her head was coming out his ass and she was wearing his "family jewels" as a necklace. He quipped that he was "not a wishbone" because his legs just got farther and farther apart. The poor girl desperately tried to not look down at the black hole that confronted her. I for one, would have been more worried about him farting. I don't think there are many people in the world who can boast of having a view of a guy quite like that.....

They took a polaroid of the event to give her for a birthday souvenir. Wow. It should be her Christmas card as well. Wow.

The show lasted about an hour, it was short. Well, short on time, if you know what I mean, nudge nudge wink wink. The Dick Artists came out afterwards to meet the crowd, selling DVD's and such. They looked strange with their clothes on. Must be wierd to be THAT naked in front of people and then just stand their with clothes on, like everything is normal. Those guys have got balls, let me tell you. And I saw them from EVERY angle.

Actually, it was kind of educational. I mean, ladies, how many times in your life have you spent with naked men frolicking in front of you who never, um, stood to attention, never expected anything from you and let you see the silly side of their willy? I would think maybe never? It was amazing to see how flexible it all could be, as we are usually trained to Respect The Tackle and Do Not Hurt It. So to see these guys doing this stuff that I honestly never thought was possible, at least not without great injury and writhing pain, was vastly enlightening.

Though they did say "Do Not Try This AT Home, and Ladies, You Especially Don't Just go Doing Dick Tricks On Your Man Without Prior Authorization".

Afterwards, of course, we were hungry, and so went to the most appropriate place to go to after a show such as that: The Hard Cock, oh, sorry, Rock, Cafe.

In which this week finally kicks my ass

Fuck. (I mistyped that us "Fuick" which oddly pleases me, like a Buick gone bad.)

This will not be a penis weekend.

My friend that I was going with is sick and she cancelled on me. And I really didn't have the balls (haha) to go alone. I'm not mad at her, I understand being sick, but I was bummed because i was REALLY looking forward to tonight. It's been a shit week.

Fuick.

The theatre was nice enough to let me exchange the tickets for another night next week. This could be because I called them practically in tears, all "I can't see the penises tonight and I am so DEPRESSED and it's been HORRIBLE week and PLEASE can I exchange them?" Luckily it was a woman who was the ticket agent and she understood my penis angst, so she kindly said that if I got my unhappy ass over to the theatre ASAP she would exchange them for me. As it was almost end of work day and I had pretty much cleared up my stuff at work, I hotfooted it over there and she exchanged them for me, I even got better seats! It was all women working there, and I joked around with them and told them that I had been looking forward to the penises all week, and was even wearing my penis viewing outfit. That got a good hearty laugh out of them.

If you are curious what a penis viewing outfit is, in MY case (I am sure this varies from person to person) it was a black sweater dress with a deep v-neck, under which I wore a black slip with lace at the top. This was all worn over black tights with knee high black pirate boots. Over all this went my embroidered black Cavalli coat with the Persian lamb edging all over collar, cuffs and hem, tightly belted, Russian style. I looked, on hindsight, a bit like a really high class, yet modest Russian hooker. Appropriate for the viewing of penis puppets, no? Well, no, as I don't get to see them tonight.

Crappy crappy week. I need beer.

Ya think it can't get any better and then it DOES

Oh My God.

I went to pick up the tickets for the puppet show today. And there, on the tickets, is printed:

PUPPETRY OF THE PENIS. presented by STAND UP NORGE.

(Karla begins rolling around on the floor laughing and giggling and clutching her stomach in gleeful agony)

Stand up! Presents Puppetry of the Penis! Oh will they? I hope so!!!!!

I am already having so damn much fun with this show I almost don't need to see it. Really.

I got tickets on the 8th row. I thought that was close enough to see things without the use of opera glasses, but far enough away that if there is any Gallagher type stuff I won't get hit....

**This just in**
Guys? Anyone looking for a job?

Just two things to tell you

1) I got stuck in the elevator at work today. I had to press the emergency alarm and security came to get me out. I felt like such a dweeb.

2) I bought tickets to Puppetry of the Penis. I'm taking a friend, as Rich just would NOT go. (In his defense, would I go see Puppetry of the Pussy? Hell no.) (Though I did see the Vagina Monologues, but the difference here is that the actual vaginas were not doing the talking.)

Ok so I have just in these few sentences used every naughty googleable word possible. Oh wait, forgot one.....TITS.

Puppets of an unusual nature

I'm sure where you work you get those general "all office" emails, making announcements of a generic nature. New copy machine, Bob got promoted, there's a new HR person. You know, that sort of thing. Maybe you also get cultural announcements, about things happening in town or a play or something? An office gathering or party?

Today, at MY office, we got an announcement about the Puppetry of the Penis. It's playing at a local theatre.

Of course, and ironically, I could not click on the link as the office web filter blocked it as being obscene, but the "all office" email did send us pictures, so I guess that's ok......

Damn I love Europe.

And I really kind of want to go see this......beats the hell out of sock puppets any day.

Inside a Turkish Bath

I went to the Cemberlitas Hammam in Istanbul. There were separate sections for men and women, so I can't tell you what happens on the boy's side, but here's what's what for the gals.

Put away all modesty. You will be naked in front of other people. Deal with it. The only people who wore swimsuits were some Americans and they wore these huge one piece suits and it just looked stupid. . They did not stay long. So, yeah, there were naked women, everywhere, all laying around on this big marble platform in the middle of the room. All lying there sweaty and soapy and lazy like. It did, indeed, look EXACTLY like what you imagine a Turkish bath to look like. I was also quite proud to note that, bodywise? I got nothing to worry about. I was definitely in the top 15% of the body attractiveness scale. This means, obviously, that no matter what you look like (or think you look like) there is gonna be someone there that makes you feel good about yourself....and someone who won't. I think I am not all that modest a person, because I felt entirely comfortable. Maybe it was just the essentially feminine feel of the place, but I really just wasn't bothered at all. Hey, we all have the same stuff, just at different levels and with different resistance to gravity.....it would have been very different if it was unisex, obviously.

The bathing room was beautiful. All greyish taupe marble, with a huge octagonal marble heated platform in the middle of the room on which all the naked ladies lounged, building up a sweat. The ceiling was domed with circular holes pierced in it that looked like bubbles (there were star shapes, too), that let the light in. It streamed into the room in swirly rays. Around the room were alcoves with washing stations in a variety of water temperatures. There was no decoration, just the dominant sculptural shapes in the room which gave it a restful appeal. The eye could wander without pausing, or could focus on the light rays. Calm, peaceful. The building was built in the 16th century.

Pretend like you are 4 years old and your mom is giving you a bath. That's pretty much what it feels like to get washed. From the minute you enter the 'hot room' you are in the capable hands of the very "seen it all" women who scrub you. And scrub they indeed do. First, after about 15 minutes of obligatory "lounge and sweat" time, the lady came over to me and dumped a bucket of warm water over me. Just...splash. Then she grabbed a scrubby hand mit and scrubbed me. First my backside, from toes to ears, then, when she wanted me to flip over for the front, she smacked my ass with a loud "pop" noise as a sign for me to flip. That surprised me a bit, and also explained the occasional smacking noises I heard as I lay in my sweaty snoozing lounging phase. I hadn't been spanked in...well, ahem, anyhow.... I flipped. She scrubbed the front of me next. She didn't exactly ignore the naughty bits, but they aren't exactly concentrated on, either, so it never felt wierd or uncomfortable. Just...motherly. It was thorough, and pleasing, and just very soothing.

After the scrubbing came the soaping. She took this thing that looked like a gauze bag (I was never sure what exactly it was) and somehow with that thing she created this HUGE bubble of suds that she sort of whisped over my body, letting the suds go where they wanted. It felt fizzy and strange. I was about 6 inches deep in bubbles. I looked around the room and some other women were also in the sudsing phase and it looked like nothing so much as a car wash, except people were getting sudsed instead of cars. She doused me with the suds, front and back with yet another smack on the ass to flip. When I flipped this time I felt like a greased pig and nearly slid right off the marble platform. It was SLIPPERY.

Once I was all soaped up she got some more buckets of water and unceremoniously dumped them over me to rinse. You know how fish look when they are dumped out of a net and onto the deck of a fishing boat? They kind of slide around and flop? That was me getting rinsed. I was a wet flopping sliding gasping fish, slithering around on that big marble platform. There was nothing to hold onto except the edge, which I did for dear life or I would have washed across the damned thing and ended up in a puddle on the floor across the room. It was like being in a soapy tsunami. Graceful I was not.

She then helped me up and took me over to one of the many and beautiful side alcoves. They all had troughs of water in three temperatures (hot warm cold) and were not ornate, but were very sculptural and elegant. (The link to the baths actually has pictures of most of what I am describing, so you can see it. No nekkid people, it's work safe.) She sat me down on the floor at her feet next to one of the water troughs and proceeded to wash my hair, using the bucket method. That was not actually all that nice, as I am very particular about shampoos and always use conditioner, so my hair ended up feeling very tangled and rough. But still, it was cute, sitting there at her feet while she washed my hair just like my mom did when I was 5.

After she washed my hair she took me to the drying room and wrapped me up in a towel. I told her thank you in Turkish (phonetically it goes Tesh uh KUR eh dehr em, and took me three days of practice to say right). Apparently, and rightly so with the difficulty of saying it, not many people make the effort and after I thanked her she broke out into a huge grin and patted my cheek just like a mom. I swear I wanted to hug her. The Turks love it if you even TRY to speak their language.

The women who washed us wore only underwear. They were also, well, zaftig. None of them would have won a Miss World contest. However, the lady who washed me had the softest skin I have ever seen, or felt. My god, that woman was glowing. I think, working in the humid environs of the baths with not much in the way of work uniform to wear, that on breaks they just scrub themselves. And I'll tell you what, the results were amazing. To a woman, they had soft, blemish and cellulite free skin. Smooth and lovely. I would kill for skin like that.

After the cleansing I had a massage in an adjoining room. It was ok. Oddly enough a Russian woman was the massage therapist. There were TONS of Russians in Istanbul. I haven't figured out the connection, but it was surprising how strong the Russian element was in the town.

After the massage I went back into the main room to have a final rinse, and then got my clothes back on and met my father (who had his own bath in the men's section) for the walk back to the hotel. We both glowed with cleanliness and relaxation. It was cool.

You tube giggle

Here's 8 minutes of Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter) being an absolutely hilarious horny bugger. (And I mean bugger in the US sense, as in "annoying person", not a buggerer in the British sense...)

I am a pervert

Today, coming back from an exhausting day of shopping where I did NOT find the perfect thing to wear to my 20th high school reunion......(here is where the large digression starts)......

but the perfect thing to wear to my 20 year high school reunion may well be an impossibility, as does such a thing exist that will remove 20 lbs, 20 years and the accumulating ravages of those years? Me thinks not. But I try. I have decided that I think I want a Diane Von Furstenberg classic wrap dress. Always wanted one, they look great on me, and it's time to splash out the money. A basic not so great dress here costs as much as a DVF stateside, so why not just get the DVF? Well.....I don't know where to find one in Oslo. Damn. And I don't have time to get one in Houston before the reunion as we get into Houston the night before.....unless i can make a run for the Galleria and get one there...and maybe get my hair done and my ass lifted as well? Surely they can do that in a few hours, right? I mean, how hard can this 20 year reunion thing be?

Ok, so I digressed, but I am really stressed about this and I have to find just the right thing that balances comfort and fabulousness with fashion-edginess. I was sort of known for my clothes in high school, you see. Gotta keep the image up....even if the ass isn't.

DAMNIT I digressed again....

OK, so on the way home from my disappointing shopping experience where I did NOT find the right thing, though I did find a couple of alternative things of interest....all black, natch.....I walked by a little table of collectible ceramics, etc., that a local lady was selling. I do have a thing for vintage glasswear, though i have been restraining myself from buying anything these past few years as, well, it all has to get moved anyhow, so what's the point? Ah, but then I saw this plate, this very collectible child's plate from the thirties and I knew I had to have it........

I mean.....just WHAT is that lamb doing to the boy and why does he have that sort of focused expression on his face? I just LOVE this plate, it's so thirties charming and innnocent and yet totally perverse....or, once again, is it just me that is such a sick puppy? Maybe I should keep my sick mind to myself? .......Here's a close up....(insert porn music of your choice here)....



I've entered an alternate world, people. I am Sick Disney. Anti-Disney. Disney as seen through the eyes of Marilyn Manson.

Anyone wanna come join? It's kind of fun here......

because I'm so classy

Rich tends to dawdle when we are on our travels, always pausing to take pictures and straying way behind me.

I get impatient and walk ahead, and then he complains that my butt is always getting into his picture. SO........I gave him some REAL butt to contemplate.


I know, I KNOW. I am SUCH the elegant jet setter, no?

I'd totally date it if I could

My iPod is making me very happy.

I've loaded it with podcasts, including Lonely Planet, Penn Jillette, NPR Satire, ABC and NBC Nightly News, something by Jack Black, Ricky Gervais, and many others. I've got the latest Harry Potter downloaded on there, all 20 hours of it, read by Stephen Fry. I've got the latest Prince, which makes me dance so nasty I think I could charge just for people to watch. I've got scads of music and the last two episodes of Project Runway as well.

AND I just got all my addresses on there. Now I don't have to take around my address book (much as i love it and have had it for over 10 years) anymore. It's all on the pod. Me Loves iPod. If I could have sex with it I would.

Oh, wait. I kind of can....hmm.

I am so wired and jumpy it's ridiculous. I think I'm packed, but I'm so jazzed I can't really get my head quiet enough to make sure. I just made dinner and had some wine, so that might help. I still have to take my ritual Pre-Trip Bath, where I fluff, shave and exfoliate every part of me that I can reach, and holler at Rich to take care of the rest. Then I have to gather all the peripherals for all the electronic stuff. Back in the old days a traveler carried traveler's checks, a camera, a phone card and a pen and some paper. Now it's digital cameras, cell phones, iPods, and iBooks.

Ok. Must. Calm. Down.